Time is a Wise Teacher
by GeminiSlytherin
Summary: When Tom Riddle manages to find and break a Time Turner in the same day, he's transported fifty years into the future. The future is strange, though. Harry Potter becomes Tom's first and only real friend. Adults are scared of Tom. Even in the wizarding world, Harry and Tom are considered freaks. And finally, who is Voldemort, and why is he so obsessed with them?
1. The Beginning

Author's Note: This is my first story on this website, but I've read quite a bit. I know that this is practically the _most_ cliché plot ever, but I wanted to have my own, self-indulgent version. Many of these types of stories are not complete, so my goal is to make sure that I finish this. Reviews are welcomed and appreciated. Right now, I have about 15,000 words done, so hopefully there is more to come. Also, just so you know, this will not and never will be slash.

Oh, and this is an edit, because I forgot (oops...):

DISCLAIMER - I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER. I am writing this solely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

"Boring" was the only word coursing through Tom Riddle's mind as he sat on the front curb of Wool's Orphanage in London. He was probably the only child in the world who hated the summer holidays more than school. Mrs. Cole forced all of the children outside on nice days like this one, and Tom was left with nothing to do. He resorted to watching the streets of London.

Tom lazily gazed at the businessmen, police officers, and women from the recording studio as they went about their daily lives. No one was truly interesting, however, until he saw a strange man clad in robes, of all things. His hair was the same shade as Tom's, but much messier, and his eyes were bright green in comparison to Tom's, which were rich brown. He made contact with Tom, then flashed an unnerving smile and let a golden necklace slip out of his left hand.

Curiosity got the better of Tom. He scrambled across the street, nearly getting hit by multiple drivers, then carefully picked up the necklace. The green-eyed man had disappeared into the crowd — or maybe thin air. He was gone without a trace, and Tom had the necklace all to himself. He made his way back to the orphanage, more cautious of traffic this time, and let the cool gold of the necklace flow through his fingers.

The pendant featured an hourglass, filled with glistening sand, almost liquid in its motion. This necklace was special, Tom knew, so he'd have to keep it away from nosy matrons and children. Absentmindedly, he flicked the pendant, watching the mesmerizing hourglass spin. At that moment, though, something strange happened. An unexpected flash of light later, and Tom found himself somewhere completely different — not in location, but in the appearance of the location. He landed roughly on his back, and the world went dark.

* * *

Harry Potter absolutely hated the orphanage. Old Mrs. Cole, still hanging on at around the age of 80, was a complete grump. It really didn't help that she hated Harry on top of that, always muttering about how Harry "reminds her of that Riddle boy." The children, namely Henry Magellan and Richard Kneeler, were just as bad. Harry knew he was different, "freakish," according to the others, but one slip-up in public had made him the primary target of the duo's bullying. And finally, there were the prospective adopters. They looked at the children like they were products in a grocery store. Harry himself had been adopted three times, though the longest of those times was a month. Another day and another freakish accident meant another shameful trip back to the orphanage.

Despite all of this, Harry didn't think that being different was all that bad. At first, he couldn't control his strange "talents," but they'd developed out of necessity. At his current age of ten, he could now levitate objects, start fires without matches, give people compulsions to do things, and even talk to snakes, of all things.

"Boy — Harry — go take out the trash! It's your turn!" Miss Emily, an orphanage volunteer, shouted.

"I'm going, Miss Emily." Harry reluctantly closed his book and heaved himself up from a sunken couch in the orphanage's sitting room.

Dragging three bags of rubbish behind him, Harry exited the orphanage. He had to hurry, or else Mrs. Cole would use some of her more outdated methods to punish him, which sometimes involved rulers and pulling on ears. He ran back up the path quickly. His foot caught on something, and he fell face-first into the grass. It was so dark that it was hard to see, so Harry had to resort to feeling his way around. That thing, though, felt disturbingly like a body. On closer analysis, Harry noticed that its chest was moving up and down — a good sign, because Harry didn't want to be framed for murder at the age of ten.

"What are you doing?" a young voice called out, the boy's body snapping upright.

"What am I doing? You're the one lying half-dead, outside, in the dark!"

"Wha - Where am I?" The moon lit the boy's face up, where his confusion was apparent.

"Wool's Orphanage, London."

"Yes, but nothing's the same…and what in the world are you wearing?"

"I could ask you the exact same thing. You look like something straight out of a 1930s war photo." The boy did, in fact. His wavy black hair was parted neatly, his shorts were held up with suspenders, and he wore knee socks.

"I should think so — after all, it's 1938. And what war are you talking about? The Great War was 20 years ago…everyone knows that."

"You're actually delusional," Harry said in disbelief. "It's July of 1990. World War II? The Cold War? Ring any bells?"

The boy looked at him in utter shock. Harry noticed the necklace in his hand for the first time. Fine gold sand was leaking onto the boy's trouser shorts.

"Um, I think your necklace broke."

The boy's face twisted into an ugly sneer. He leapt up, albeit dizzily, and stomped on the necklace. A soft crunch indicated that it had broken even more. An awkward silence rang out.

"Well, erm, I'm Harry Potter. And you are?" Harry held out his hand to the boy. Tentatively, the boy accepted it, but wiped his hand on his shorts afterwards.

"Tom," he said reluctantly. "Tom Riddle."

So this was the boy Mrs. Cole was always comparing to Harry. "It may be ridiculous of me to ask, but are you a time traveler?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. One minute I was sitting outside the orphanage — _my_ orphanage, mind you — and the next I ended up here."

"Well, _Tom_ ," Harry began, testing out the boy's name, "let's go in. I'll just tell Mrs. Cole that your parents died in an accident or something. She's so old she probably won't question it."

"Mrs. Cole?" Tom asked incredulously. "She's still alive…1990…that would make her older than 80!"

"Yeah, well, she's still as mean as ever. Just yesterday she rapped me with her ruler for coming home from school ten minutes late."

"That's nothing. During my time," Tom said awkwardly, "she used her mother's old cane. She's always hated me."

"That's definitely true. Whenever I do something particularly freakish, she'll mutter about you."

"Freakish? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, nothing…it's stupid really. You wouldn't believe me," Harry tried to cover.

"Strange. Weird. A freak. A devil. I'm used to it. The things I can do…they're almost like magic."

Harry's eyes widened. Swiftly, he plucked a dandelion from the moonlit lawn. He laid it on his open palm, then directed all of his attention towards making it move and float. To his joy, it worked, and the dandelion gracefully floated upwards.

Tom smirked. He picked up a pebble from the path, and did the same thing that Harry had done. Not to be outplayed, Harry grabbed a twig and lit the tip on fire, watching as the flame charred and consumed the rest of the wood. In return, Tom pulled a dew-covered leaf off of a tree branch and froze the droplets of water. Harry made a cricket crawl onto his arm and jump in circles, and Tom did the same with a grasshopper. The competition between the two was steep, but Harry had a trump card up his sleeve. Picturing a snake in his mind, he readied himself.

" _Snakes, wherever you are, come on out!_ " he hissed. At this point, Tom looked absolutely appalled.

"You can talk to them too…I've never met anyone else."

"Neither have I."

Just as soon as three or four snakes were slithering out of the hedges surrounding the orphanage, light flooded the lawns and the silhouette of Mrs. Cole became visible.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER! As you obviously did not learn your lesson yesterday, I'm going to have to give you anoth—" Her eyes enlarged to the size of golf balls.

"T-tom Riddle."

"Yes, ma'am?"

She pointed shakily at Tom. "T-tom R-riddle. B-but…b-born in 1926…impossible," her quavery voice said.

"I'm here, aren't I? And I have no idea what you're talking about, either. I was born on December 31, 1979," Tom lied smoothly.

"It's true, Mrs. Cole. His parents were recently in an automobile accident, and I'm fairly certain that, as a public orphanage, you have to provide him with shelter."

"Just go inside, Harry," Mrs. Cole said wearily. "And go with him, Tom — er, Riddle."

Harry complied to her request, showing Tom to his room. "I can get you another bed. We have one in the storage room."

"This was my room, before I came here." Tom seemed to be lost in thought.

"I'm getting the bed, then."

When Harry returned from the storage room, Tom was prying at one of the floorboards. Before Harry could even ask what the other boy was doing, he replied.

"I left something here before."

The other was strange, Harry noted. Then again, so was he. He wondered what having a real friend was like. He'd never really had one before, as all of the other orphans thought he was too strange and everyone at school didn't grant him any notice. If he was honest, he'd never really wanted a friend before today — and he was considering this when he fell asleep.

* * *

Tom Riddle had never had a friend in his life. In fact, he'd never wanted one. In his experience, maintaining friendships was tedious and annoying, and ultimately worthless. He'd never found another person who understood him like Harry did, though. From the moment he'd first talked to the boy, something had just _clicked_. It was like talking to himself (albeit slightly less intelligent, and slightly more naïve, he had to say). So, he'd made his choice, and opened up to Harry.

He wasn't sure whether he should be happy or upset to have found another person like him, someone with magic. In the end, he decided on indifference. When he went to bed that night, after finding his old diaries, of course, he couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his face, seeming to melt the mask of ice he'd perfected over the years.


	2. Rubeus Hagrid

"Wake up, Harry."

Harry rolled over in bed, shocked at the sight of Tom's form leaning over him. He held back a squeal and sat upright, and the events of the previous night flashed back to him.

"Don't do that, Tom. It's creepy."

"That's the point," came Tom's deadpan reply. Harry remembered that Tom had been searching for something in the orphanage room before

"Did you find it?" he asked.

"Yes, but that's none of your business."

"I think it is my business. This is my room now, in case you'd forgotten."

"I was here first, though, so the room actually belongs to me."

"Whatever, Tom."

Just then they were interrupted by a knocking on the door. Mrs. Cole's voice called out to them, slightly shaky. "Harry, you have a visitor from some school…Hadrid from Hoggywarts or some such. Tom, why don't you come with me to get br—"

"—he's staying, Mrs. Cole," Harry interrupted.

"I-I don't think that is the best i—"

"I'm staying," Tom said assertively.

"Fine, fine." Mrs. Cole walked out of the room, only to be replaced by the biggest man Harry had seen in his life.

"Heya, Harry! I haven' seen yeh since yeh were jus' a baby!"

"You know me?"

"O' course I do! I'll tell yeh, it took a long time ter find yeh. Tha' aunt an' uncle o' yours, they're some nasty muggles. Dumbledore didn't even know tha' yeh were here!"

"Dumbledore? Muggles?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Tha's right, Harry. I keep forgetting tha' you don't know anything!"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I mean about tha' wizarding world, o' course!"

"We're wizards?" butted in Tom. Hagrid turned to him in shock.

"Why, Tom Riddle! I don' believe it…I was jus' a second year when ye were a sixth year. Yeh always were nice ter me, other than the acromantula thin'. But what's done is done. How are yeh here?"

Tom, thinking quickly, said, "I'm his son. Or, I think so, at least."

"Didn' even know he had a son! Pleased ter meet yeh, Tom Riddle Jr. But wha' happened ter yer father?"

"An unfortunate accident." Tom pretended to wipe away a tear. He was really laying on the "poor orphan" act. Hagrid's beetle-like eyes were actually watering, though, so Harry supposed that Tom's act worked. The half-giant extended a large hand to Tom, who cautiously took it, though it didn't escape Harry's notice that Tom discreetly wiped his hand on his shorts afterwards. Harry shot him a look.

"Now, where were we? Yeh're goin' ter Hogwarts, which is a school o' witchcraft an' wizardry. The very best school, if I say so meself. Yeh can learn magic there, like Charms, Transfiguration, an' all that."

"Are you a wizard, too?"

Hagrid nodded.

"Then prove it," Tom demanded as he crossed his arms. Honestly, the boy was much too impatient in Harry's eyes.

"Well, I'm not supposed ter do magic, yeh see—"

"Prove it." Harry repeated Tom's words, feeling like a broken record.

"Alrigh', alrigh'." Hagrid pulled out a bright pink umbrella and muttered something under his breath. A bright white light emitted from the tip of the umbrella.

"Wizards use umbrellas to cast spells?!" Harry asked incredulously.

"No, tha's jus' me. I was expelled in me second year. Mos' wizards use wands, which're like magical sticks."

Tom's eyes practically glowed. "Where can I get one of them?"

"In Diagon Alley, o' course — Ollivander's wands 're the best in all o' England."

"And where is this so-called 'Diagon Alley?'"

"Jus' go to Charin' Cross Road, an' there yeh'll find a place called the Leaky Cauldron. Tha's the entrance ter Diagon Alley. Here 're yer directions an' materials lists, but before I go, I need ter talk ter Harry 'bout his family."

"Tom can stay, if he wants. I don't mind."

"Yeh're sure tha's alrigh', Harry? Yeh could always tell him later."

Harry nodded. Hagrid began to tell them about his parents, who had apparently not died in a fatal car crash, as the Dursleys had previously told him. They were considered to be great wizards of their time, and were Head Boy and Head Girl back when they had gone to Hogwarts. Then came the tragic part of the story — Hagrid explained that they were murdered by a dark lord, though he refused to speak his name.

"What was his actual name?"

"Er, we don' speak o' his name. We call 'im You-Know-Who, or summat else, but there're too many other names."

"Please, Hagrid, just tell us!" Harry pleaded.

"O', er, fine…Voldemort," Hagrid whispered with wide eyes.

"That sounds familiar," Harry and Tom said at the same time. They looked at each other curiously. Hagrid simply nodded, then looked at his watch and jumped up suddenly.

"Now, er, I bes' be on my way. Are yeh sure yeh don' wan' ter go ter Diagon Alley with me? Yeh'll be fine on yer own?" Harry and Tom nodded. "An' happy birthday, Harry," Hagrid added, then handed Harry a slightly smushed chocolate cake, which he hesitantly took.

"Thanks, Hagrid." Harry realized that he'd nearly forgotten his own birthday.

"Now, remember yer Gringotts key, yes, tha's the one. Charin' Cross, jus' a few blocks away from 'ere — tha's where yeh'll fin' the Leaky Cauldron. An' ere's yer letter, an' a little summat for yeh to get a pet with. See yeh both at Hogwarts…I'll be helpin' the firs' years in the boats."

With a nod to both of them, the giant man left the room, though they could hear his lumbering steps as he traveled down the stairs for several seconds afterwards.

"So there are others like us," Tom said after a moment of silence. He turned to face Harry. "You're so lucky — to have parents, I mean. Especially ones who were a witch and a wizard."

"It's not like I knew them or anything. Although, in some twisted way, I'm glad they were murdered. The Dursleys told me that they had gotten drunk and died in a car accident. Now, at least I know they died honorably."

"Hmm," Tom replied. "Mrs. Cole said that my mother died giving birth to me on New Year's Eve, so she couldn't possibly have been magical. I was named after my father, you know."

"I'll help you find your parents, Tom. Today, we'll sneak out to buy our Hogwarts supplies and we can look him up in the public library."

"Did Hagrid say anything about how I should pay for my supplies?"

"He gave me a key to my family's vault at some strange bank, but no, I don't think so. He seemed really surprised to see you…" Harry thought for a second. "We should ask the bank what to do when we get there."

"Fine," Tom acquiesced. He began pulling Harry, towards the door, eager to go to Diagon Alley.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You need to work on your control issues. I mean, power is great and everything, but you really shouldn't use it when it isn't—" He was cut off by a poke from Tom, and a small play fight occurred before they made it to the orphanage door.

After a few minutes of walking, they found themselves at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry had seen it before, but was with Muggles, and had believed himself to be going insane because they couldn't see it. Now he knew why that was. The pub looked dingy and quire worn-down, especially with the wooden sign creaking in the wind.

Tom pushed open the door, boldly walked up to the bartender, and asked to be let into Diagon Alley. Harry internally winced. Politeness and manners were the key here, based on the people he observed around them.

"Are you with anyone?" the bartender said in a slightly rough voice. Harry dug around in his pocket for his Hogwarts letter, then presented it to the man. If Hagrid was to be believed, then Harry was famous in the wizarding world, so he was careful to cover his name with his thumb.

"No," he said, "but I think this will be acceptable, correct?"

The bartender nodded, then walked to the back of the pub, where a plain brick wall greeted them. He tapped the wall with his wand (which was thankfully not an umbrella), which then opened to one of the most magnificent scenes that Harry had ever seen in his life.

The street was cobblestone, and was flanked by vendors of all sorts on either side. Magical sparks and owls soared through the air above them, and the people were dressed in a fantastic array of robes. The best part, though, was how wonderfully and entirely freakish everyone there was. This was a place where Harry knew that he'd fit in, and maybe even stand out — in a good way, of course.

"Wow," Tom breathed, and Harry could only nod. The bartender coughed impatiently, and they snapped out of their awed trances and entered the alley.


	3. Diagon Alley

"Wands," Tom said, trying to pull Harry towards the wand shop, Ollivanders.

"Tom, we need money to buy wands," Harry deadpanned. Tom shoved him a bit, obviously annoyed that he didn't think of that. They found the bank, Gringotts, which was a tall, imposing building made of marble and guarded by short creatures that Harry decided were either goblins, trolls, or elves. He didn't know which, but they were definitely a strange sight to behold.

They walked inside and up to one of the bank tellers. "Excuse me," Harry said. The goblin looked down at him with a sneer. "I'd like to get some money from my account—" Harry flashed his key, "and we had a question about something."

Tom stepped up. "I'm going to Hogwarts this year, but I'm a bit short on funds. How am I supposed to pay?"

"Money will be provided to you. Your visitor from the school surely should have told you this. What is your name?"

"He was a bit…erm…absentminded," Harry added quickly, then handed the goblin the key. "Oh, and he's Tom Riddle." Tom glared at Harry for not allowing him to speak. Harry ignored it.

"Griphook! Take Mr. Potter to his vault, and get a Hogwarts fund for a Mr. Tom Riddle."

"Right away, sir." Another goblin strode over to them and gestured for them to follow. "This way, please."

Griphook led them to a small room with a sort of vending machine within it, although it was run by magic and not electronics. He made Tom sign a sheet and write down his information, before doing something with the contraption and returning with a bag of golden, silver, and bronze coins. Griphook handed them both a card. They read:

MAGICAL CURRENCY

1 Galleon (gold) = 17 Sickles (silver)

1 Sickle = 29 Knuts (bronze)

Offhandedly, Harry thought that the wizarding conversion factors were absolutely ridiculous. They continued on towards what looked to be a mineshaft, complete with a rickety cart that made Harry question his safety. After the cart ride, Tom looked quite green, and he himself didn't think he appeared much better.

"Vault 687," Griphook intoned. He opened it with a press of his hand, and Harry was utterly shocked to see the golden glint emitting from the vault's contents. There were piles upon piles of gold, and to someone who had spent his whole life believing that his parents were good-for-nothing, dirt poor drunks, the sight was astounding.

Hastily, he used the bag to gather a few of each type of coin. He didn't want to lose his only friend because of the other's jealousy. After all, he knew that if their positions were reversed, Harry would definitely be feeling envious. They took the cart back to ground level in silence, and left Gringotts to begin shopping.

"So," Tom said. "It seems that you're rich."

"Yes. I suppose so. It doesn't really matter, though, does it? After all, I'm not even going to be able to use it until I come of age."

"Still, at least it's there."

Harry gave a noncommittal hum. "Let's go get our books and school supplies first, then our pets and wands. We should save the best for last."

"Fine."

They stepped into Flourish and Blotts, astounded at the sheer number of books around them. Helpfully, the store provided up-to-date basic sets of books for the Hogwarts students, and he and Tom grabbed two first-year sets. Other than that, he bought a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ , and on the way out, Harry was sure to grab a mail order catalog so that he could get more books later.

Their robe fittings went well, though Tom had to get secondhand robes adjusted for him, rather than new ones. Harry got secondhand robes as well, mostly because he didn't see the point in getting brand new robes if older ones could serve the same purpose. They got potions cauldrons, strange supplies, and miscellaneous items such as dragonhide gloves. Finally, there were only wands and pets to get.

They entered the musty shop called Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. Out of nowhere, an elderly man with silvery eyes and a creepy aura appeared.

"Harry Potter. Of course — it's about time for you to go to Hogwarts. I knew your mother and father, you know. Your mother was quite a charms prodigy during her time, with a swishy willow wand. Your father loved transfiguration and used a wand of mahogany. And who is that behind you?"

Tom stepped out from behind Harry. "Tom Riddle, sir."

Ollivander paled a few shades more, if that was even possible with his light pallor. "How? How is that possible?"

"How is what possible?"

"You do not know?"

"Know what? I'd just like a wand, please."

"I will be back in a minute," Ollivander said shakily, then retreated to the back of the store. A distinct pop could be heard moments later.

"Well, that was weird," Harry remarked. "First he goes on about my family history, then looks scared of you! Imagine that — being scared of an eleven-year-old boy, especially you!" Harry laughed.

"Hey, I can be scary when I want to be!" Tom straightened his back and puffed out his chest.

"Of course," came Harry's sarcastic reply. Tom stuck out his tongue in a childish manner.

"I wonder what he's doing back there," he said more seriously.

"Finding us wands, hopefully." They sat down in the rickety wooden chairs lining the storefront, and waited for what seemed like hours, even though it was only about fifteen minutes.

Another pop was heard from the back, and Ollivander returned into the main shop area.

"Try this one," he told Tom. "Go on, give it a wave."

Immediately, silvery sparks shot out from the tip of the wand. Harry clapped loudly, as it was the first real magic he'd seen up close.

"Yew, 13 1/2 inches, with a phoenix feather core. Unyielding. It seeks a strong leader, someone with skill and intellect. You are destined for great things, surely, but you must remember that even you have limits. Keep those valuable close to you, for it will benefit you in the long run."

Tom looked pleased and a bit overwhelmed by this information, from what Harry could tell. Harry was now anxious to get a wand of his own. The problem was, though, that it was taking much longer. Harry tried wands made of maple, unicorn hair, oak, dragon heartstring, and more, but not one of them felt right, or did anything even remotely similar to what Tom did.

As the pile of failed wands grew, Harry felt more and more weary, while Ollivander looked more and more cheerful and determined.

"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Try it — I have a very good feeling about this one."

To Harry's surprise, a sudden warmth filled the room as soon as he handled the wand, followed by sparks similar to Tom's.

"Wonderful, simply wonderful. Although it is curious that the two of you have brother wands, meaning that their cores are sourced from the same phoenix. It is exceptionally rare for two wizards to be chosen by two twin-cored wands in the same ten years, let alone on the same day and at practically the same time. You are both capable of great things with those wands, and if there is one piece of advice that you heed, let it be this: always work together."

Harry and Tom paid for their wands and quickly left the peculiar shop, and both were thinking the same word: strange. Despite the lunacy that the silvery-eyed man seemed to suffer from, Harry felt compelled to follow his words, and weirdly felt an even stronger connection to Tom than ever before.

They stopped in front of a place called Magical Menagerie, which was bustling with adults and children alike. The pungent odor of animals hit their noses even before they entered. Harry pinched his nose.

"I wonder if they have snakes," Tom thought aloud. Harry was curious too.

"We should get an owl and maybe a snake. Then, we'll be able to send letters and such, and also have a snake as a companion."

"That sounds alright, but you're getting the owl."

The owl section wasn't quite as smelly as the rodent section they had previously been in. Harry's attention was quickly caught by a snowy white owl perched in the corner of the shop. Tom appeared to be looking at an actual raven.

"I like this one," Harry said. "She's beautiful."

"But the raven — much more intimidating, don't you think?"

"I'm buying, remember? And I choose the snowy owl." Tom huffed moodily while Harry bought the bird, realizing afterwards that he had only a few sickles left. Tom asked the shop attendant where the snakes were, which was apparently the far left section of the shop. Multiple glass cases of snakes lined the walls, but many of the reptiles were hidden.

" _Come on, snakes. We want to look at you,_ " Tom hissed. Many of the snakes emerged from their hiding spots and looked curiously up at them.

" _Who are you?_ " a slender black snake with white speckled markings asked.

" _Harry Potter, and Tom Riddle,_ " Harry replied. " _Tom, I like her. She's venomous, and she grows to be seven feet long._ "

" _Finally, we can agree on something. It's decided, then. I get to name her, though._ "

They looked up to alert the shopkeeper and noticed that the whole store's attention was on them. It was eerily silent, so much so that it was probably possible to hear a pin drop.

"—Parselmouths…not since You-Know-Who…" a disoriented woman, holding her son's hand tightly, was mumbling.

"—had children, never knew it…we're doomed—" a sandy haired man said.

"—Slytherin's kin, they have to be," yet another person was saying.

Finally, Harry's gaze swept to a haughty-looking blonde man and his equally blonde son. He was just giving them a cold, calculated glance, his lips turning up a bit as he looked at Harry's fringe. Harry realized that, were he to be recognized, their situation would become even worse. He emptied the contents of his money bag, hoping that it was enough, then opened the terrarium sloppily, grabbed the snake gently, picked up his snowy owl's cage, shoved their other supplies into Tom's arms, and pulled Tom along with him as he fled the shop.

They pushed past the still awed patrons and ran to the Leaky Cauldron's entrance in Diagon Alley. Nearly knocking down a tall man dressed in a garish shade of mauve, they made it in and out of the pub quickly, surprisingly glad to be back in Muggle London.

"Talking to snakes is apparently not a normal thing for wizards, either," Harry said. "We're still freaks."

"No, really? I hadn't noticed," came Tom's sarcastic reply. "Let's just go to the library. Being normal is overrated anyway."

Harry laughed. "After all, weird people always seem to get further in life." Suddenly remembering the snake, he handed her to Tom, who whispered something to her and allowed her to rest in his pocket.


	4. The Hogwarts Express

The library was practically deserted on a Friday night, but it was still hard to ignore the stares of the few people present. There was the snowy owl, along with their trunks and overall disheveled appearances.

"Can I help you?" croaked the librarian, peering down at them through her reading glasses. They made her eyes look twice their actual size.

"We're just using a computer, but thanks," Harry explained. Turning to Tom, he said, "Watch. You're going to like this."

He sat down at one of the yellowish desktop computers and pulled up the library's database. Tom's eyes widened beside him.

"That has to be magic."

"Nope, just Muggle technology."

"I may not like Muggles, but that is brilliant!" Tom exclaimed in one of the few shows of emotion Harry had seen from him.

"Isn't it? And all I have to do is look up the name 'Tom Riddle.'"

Immediately, a listing for a newspaper article appeared. The headline read "Three Murdered in Little Hangleton, Circumstances Unknown." The article continued on to describe how the autopsied completed were inconclusive, and how there were no leads on the case. It was dated June 20, 1943.

"My father is dead, then. And he didn't want me when he was alive."

"Maybe he didn't know about you. And he's not dead in the past, if you're who you say you are."

"I want to go back. I would have been sixteen when he died — I could have prevented it."

"Maybe there's a way to do that, with magic," Harry offered.

"Maybe," Tom said. "I wonder if they were killed by magic — the Riddles. I mean, it's possible, right? There's no explanation for their deaths."

Harry agreed, and they decided to research lethal spells when they got to Hogwarts to try to figure out if the Riddles were murdered by a witch or a wizard.

They gathered their numerous supplies and returned to the orphanage. In order to prevent Mrs. Cole from realizing that they were gone, Harry went to tell her that they were feeling sick and that they needed medicine, making sure to look as pale and feverish as possible. When she made the trip up the stairs to check their temperatures, all she found was Tom lying in his bed. There was no owl or trunks anywhere, and Harry was impressed that Tom had managed to fit everything in their wardrobes.

* * *

The month seemed to pass by as slowly as possible. Tom and Harry spent their days reading their textbooks and _Hogwarts: A History_. From there, they'd learned of the four houses, and the spells in the Great Hall, and of the founders. Tom had made the connection between Salazar Slytherin's ability to talk to snakes and theirs, and had concluded that they were in some way related to him. This meant that he now believed that Harry was his descendant, and he began using his authority as Harry's elder to get his way. It didn't really work. Finally, it was the early morning on September 1, and it was time to tell Mrs. Cole about their school and then leave, giving her no time to think the matter over.

"Mrs. Cole, we're going to be leaving for our boarding school, Hogwarts, soon, so we'll see you in the summer, alright? Bye!" Harry said, leaving behind a bewildered orphanage matron.

He and Tom exited the place, excited to be leaving. They walked all the way to King's Cross Station (which was only a few blocks), and tried to ignore the stares they got as they tried to find the platform.

"There must be something wrong with these tickets. There's no way that a platform as ridiculous-sounding as 9 3/4 even exists," Tom complained. "Hagrid must've tricked us."

"Let's just find platforms nine and ten and wait there. Maybe we'll see other wizards," suggested Harry.

Tom huffed, but found them a bench and sat down anyway. He tapped his foot impatiently on the floor of the station. Occasionally, he'd mutter something like "pointless" or "irrational," but stopped once Harry pointed out a conglomerate of strange-looking redheads.

"They look freakish, don't they? Let's watch them." Harry discreetly pointed them out. Surprisingly, one by one, they ran into the platform barrier between nine and ten. Instead of the collision that Harry expected and Tom was looking forward to, they simply disappeared through the brick barrier.

"Let's go, then." Harry tried to tug on Tom's arm.

"What if they had to do something, like use a spell, before they could pass through?"

"That one boy wasn't any older than us, and he got through without doing anything," Harry reasoned. "I watched him. We'll be fine."

Tom groaned. "If we crash, you're paying for my doctors visit."

Harry laughed. After the pack of redheads had finished going through, he began running at the brick wall with his trolley in front of him. At the last moment, he was very sure that he was going to crash, but it didn't happen. Instead, he found himself in a cheery new platform, complete with a steaming red train and a feeling of magic in the air.

"MOVE!" commanded a voice behind him, and Harry pushed himself and his things out of the way, just in time, for Tom had entered the platform. A gleaming, golden sign above their heads simply said Platform 9 3/4.

"Now that that's over," began Tom, looking a bit sick, "let's go find a compartment."

Harry complied, and they were able to find an empty one near the back of the train. A few minutes later, the train began to chug along. Harry was trying to finish reading his potions textbook, while Tom was reading _Hogwarts: A History_ for the just about the third time since they'd gotten the book.

After a moment, Tom looked up with a serious expression on his face. "You'd better be in Slytherin with me."

"How are you so sure that you'll be in Slytherin?"

Tom shot him a look. "I'm cunning and ambitious, and I can talk to snakes. I'm sure I'll be in Hufflepuff." The sarcasm was heavy in his voice.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll try to be in Slytherin. How do we get sorted, anyway? The book doesn't mention anything about it."

"I don't know. I guess we'll find out, though I'd like to be prepared for whatever it is."

Just then, they were interrupted by the same redheaded boy they'd seen earlier.

"Is Harry Potter here? He's supposed to be in my year, and I—"

Harry sighed, then begrudgingly said, "I'm Harry Potter."

"Can I see your scar?" the redhead blurted out. Sighing again, Harry lifted up the hair that covered the scar. He really wasn't one for excessive attention, especially when it was because of something that he couldn't even remember. The freckled boy also seemed quite sheltered and naïve.

"Wicked!" Suddenly remembering to introduce himself, the boy said, "I'm Ron Weasley."

Tom tried to force a smile, but it didn't really work, as his expression morphed into a sneer. "Tom Riddle," he said. Harry glared at Tom for his rude expression.

Inviting himself in, Ron sat down next to Tom, who immediately scooted a few inches away from the boy. "So which houses do you think you'll be in?"

"Slytherin," Tom was quick to reply. Ron looked a bit taken aback.

"What about you, Harry?"

"Slytherin," Harry repeated. Ron scrunched his face in conclusion, and then disbelief.

"Bu-but you can't be in Slytherin?"

"And why not?" Harry prompted.

"Because that's the evil house, and You-Know-Who himself was a Slytherin!"

Tom held up _Hogwarts: A History_. "According to this book, it's a place for the cunning and ambitious. That doesn't mean it's evil, and it doesn't mean that everyone in Slytherin is evil as well."

Ron stood up and made to the compartment door to leave. "Bye, then, Harry and…er…Tom. You're nothing like I expected, Harry."

Once he had left, both Harry and Tom relaxed their postures. "Honestly, I think that's a good thing — especially with the signs of ignorance he showed," Tom said and laughed.

"You're probably right — he really didn't seem like a very agreeable person. But who knows? He could be deeper than he seems — though I seriously doubt it."

Another fifteen minutes passed peacefully, and Harry and Tom changed into their robes, before they were intruded upon once again. This time, it was a platinum blonde boy, followed by a pair of large, muscly boys. Harry realized after a second that it was the same boy they'd seen at the Magical Menagerie fiasco, but it was too late by then to do anything.

"You're Harry Potter," he began haughtily. "My name is Draco Malfoy — I have certain connections in the wizarding world, and—" He paled drastically when he opened his eyes to look at them.

"And what?" Tom prompted in annoyance.

"Th-the pet shop! Diagon Alley! You were the boys speaking to those snakes. Father said that I should seek you out." Draco Malfoy paused for a second. "Crabbe, Goyle, leave now," he commanded, and his large sidekicks left obediently. He continued. "But…Harry Potter? A Parselmouth?"

"Yes? What's so bad about that?"

"Well, the Dark Lord is the last known person who could speak Parseltongue, and you defeated him! It's commonly seen as a mark of a dark wizard!"

"I can't explain it. But anyway, Malfoy, what would it take for you to keep our little secret?"

The pale, blonde boy grinned as if he had won a great prize. "Get sorted into Slytherin, and be my friend."

Harry nearly scoffed, but caught himself just in time. Draco Malfoy expected so little that it was almost laughable. "Acquaintance first," Harry negotiated, then Draco agreed and shook the Harry's hand.

"Who might you be?" Draco asked, facing Tom.

"Tom Riddle."

Draco made a face, looking like he had bitten into a lemon. "Are you a Muggleborn?" He said the word like it was a curse word.

"I can speak to snakes, you idiot! Do you think I'm a Muggleborn?" Tom looked like he was about ready to hex Draco.

"Your name—" Draco began, only to be cut off by Harry's spell incantation. Harry looked down at his outstretched wand in awe. It actually worked! He'd read about the silencing spell in his charms textbook, but it was the first time he'd performed magic with his wand.

"Listen, both of you. Draco, Tom is not a Muggleborn; I'm fairly sure of that. And it doesn't really matter, anyway. As for you, Tom, Draco could be a powerful ally, despite his…shortcomings."

He broke his concentration on the spell. Both of them openly glared at Harry, who shrugged nonchalantly.

"Don't ever threaten me again," Tom said with a dark expression. Malfoy just crossed his arms and turned away from them. The train screeched to a halt, and all three of them crowded towards the window to catch a glimpse of the Hogwarts castle. After a few moments where they were frozen in awed silence, Draco left to get his things and Harry and Tom unpacked their luggage from the train.


	5. The Sorting Hat

Once they had stepped off of the train, they were immediately greeted by the sight of Hagrid. "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" he bellowed. When he caught sight of Harry and Tom, he added, "Heya Harry, Tom."

He led them over to the banks of an inky black lake. "No more than four to a boat."

Tom rolled his eyes as Draco managed to find them and enter their boat. Without any warning, the boats jolted and began gliding across the smooth waters of the lake. When they reached the boathouse on the other side, they were greeted by a tall, stern-looking woman with graying black hair, who was dressed in emerald robes and was wearing glasses.

"I will take them from here, Hagrid," she said.

She led them into the castle, explaining things along the way. Apparently, she was Minerva McGonagall, the head of Gryffindor house, the deputy headmistress, and the Transfiguration professor. They entered what Harry thought to be the Great Hall, complete with its enchanted ceiling and four long house tables. As they looked around, ethereal figures swept through the hall. There was one for each of the houses, and other ghosts as well. One of them even talked to the students about being sorted into Hufflepuff. Harry saw Draco Malfoy sneer out of the corner of his eye.

"There are four houses here at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. When I call your name, you will step up to the stage and place the Sorting Hat over your head. After it sorts you, you will go to your designated table." Before Professor McGonagall could begin, though, the tattered brown had began to sing.

Oh you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!

The school clapped and then McGonagall began calling out names, but Harry couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Meanwhile, a girl with bushy brown hair was haughtily summarizing the entirety of _Hogwarts: A History_. Harry had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He seemed to be doing that too often lately.

Harry was snapped out of his thinking when he heard a sharp call of "Potter, Harry!" He walked up to the stage and placed the ratty old had over his head, shuddering at the thought of lice.

"Harry Potter. Quite an interesting case, if I do say so myself. You're brave, but not in a reckless way. Loyal, but only to few, and hardworking, but only when you want to be. You've got an intelligent and ready mind, but you don't learn just for the sake of learning. And you're very cunning, but not in the intense way that most Slytherins are. So where shall I put you?"

"Slytherin," Harry suggested.

"You're sure? You will face the hardest stereotypes and challenges—"

"—Slytherin," Harry repeated and cut the Sorting Hat off.

"If you say so. Oh, and I do _not_ have lice, Harry. Just go on to SLYTHERIN!"

Harry allowed himself a small smirk as he trotted off towards the green and silver table. Draco Malfoy was already sitting there and was watching him as he walked to the table. One thing that Harry did notice was the complete lack of applause from the students. Most of them seemed to be utterly shocked at Harry's Sorting, and one black-haired man at the teachers' table even sputtered on his drink. Gradually, beginning with Slytherin the hall filled with halfhearted applause, and Harry took his seat.

Harry began to get worried about Tom's sorting after all of the R's were passed and he still hadn't been called. After the last student, Blaise Zabini, was sorted into Slytherin, Harry saw Tom whisper something to McGonagall. She paled a bit, and murmurs arose from the students. Finally, she called out "Riddle, Tom" in a slightly shaky voice. Dumbledore turned his head in unmasked surprise, the rosy tinge and calmness gone from his face. The professor in the turban twitched a bit, his eyes widening to scary proportions.

Within a minute, his sorting was over as the hat yelled out "SLYTHERIN." He walked over and took a seat next to Harry, ignoring the sneers he received from the other members of his new house. It looked like McGonagall and a tall bearded man, presumably Dumbledore, were deep in conversation. Afterwards, Dumbledore stepped up to address the students, looking a bit flustered.

"Welcome! Before we begin our banquet, I'd like to say a few few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" He smiled. "Thank you!" he said, sitting back down.

"And you think I'm crazy," Tom said, turning to Harry, who simply shrugged.

"So, Potter. Who's your little mudblood twin?" came a cold voice from their right. Harry saw that it belonged to a pug-nosed girl with mousy brown hair.

"What did you call me?" Tom asked with a threatening look in his eyes.

"Mudblood — it means your blood is tainted by Muggle filth, or are you too stupid to realize that?"

Harry smiled. "I think you're forgetting who you're talking to. I'm a halfblood, with a so-called _mudblood_ mother."

"Who are you, even? Obviously someone unimportant," Tom added.

The girl sputtered, and pouted. "Pansy Parkinson, of the Noble House of Parkinson."

"Yeah, I apologize, but you still seem pretty unimportant." Harry went back to loading his plate with food. He noticed that about half of the table was watching the encounter by now. For good measure, he said, "Other than that, I'm willing to bet that Tom is ten times the wizard you'll ever hope to be."

"Really," she drawled. "Prove it, then."

Tom smiled. Harry nodded to him and crossed his arms contently, watching as he levitated her pumpkin juice wandlessly and made it spill all over her robes. Quickly, the other Slytherins turned away, pretending that they hadn't seen anything, and Pansy Parkinson squealed and ran off to find a bathroom. Harry didn't really feel bad for her, especially with that horrible personality.

After the feast was over, two of the older students, marked with prefect badges, led them to the Slytherin common room. No one else had attempted to speak with them, and Draco even looked a bit wary of them. In the dungeons, they were met by their head of house, who was the same black-haired man that Harry had seen sputter beforehand.

"I am your head of house, Professor Snape. While you are at Hogwarts, I expect that you behave as model students, if only in public settings. Slytherin House has a long and noble history to uphold, and any sort of bad behavior will absolutely not be tolerated." Harry could've sworn that Snape looked particularly at him when he said that, but he wasn't sure.

A male prefect (Harry didn't catch his name) showed them to their dormitory. Like the common room, it was primarily green and had cold stone floors. Each of the four-poster beds had hangings surrounding it, which Harry supposed would be good for privacy. Their trunks, along with sets of new, green and silver ties, and Slytherin winter gear, were placed at the foot of each bed. Harry was glad to note that he and Tom had adjacent beds.

Once they had gotten settled, introductions were in order. Crabbe and Goyle, which were the surnames of the large boys that had accompanied Draco earlier, introduced themselves hastily and said nothing more for the remainder of the evening. Their dorm mates, other than Draco and his cohorts, were Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Neither seemed like the friendly type, so Harry didn't try to converse with them any more. In fact, they looked rather put-off at the idea of sharing a dormitory with a halfblood and a Muggleborn.

Draco tried to confront them about the incident with Pansy Parkinson, but

After the others had already gone to bed, Harry walked over to Tom's bed with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Did you hear what Dumbledore said at the end of the feast?"

"Something about a forbidden corridor?" Tom tried.

"The third-floor corridor. We should see why it's forbidden. He said that it would cause a painful death, but I don't believe that for one second. Why would someone tell students not to go to an interesting corridor if it were truly deadly? That's the equivalent of telling a starving lion not to eat food right in front of it."

"You know, he's not exactly the most sane person I've ever met. It's possible that the corridor really is deadly."

"We should still investigate it." Seeing Tom's skeptical expression, he added, "Safely, of course. We'll be prepared."

"Whatever you say, Harry. I don't think my life can get any crazier at this point." Harry laughed as Tom retreated back to his bed.

"I'm going to bed, Tom," Harry said, even though it was quite obvious.

Harry didn't fail to notice the quiet "goodnight" that came from Tom's bed. He lay there for what must have been hours, for he was much too excited to sleep. Magic was real, and he'd be learning and practicing it tomorrow.


	6. Professors and Potions

"Wake up, Harry. You're going to be late to class." Tom's voice startled Harry, who sat up immediately.

"How do you get up so early?"

"It's my natural talent. Now hurry up. I swear, you're the slowest person I've ever met when it comes to getting ready."

Once they were ready, they went with a group of the other first years into the common room. A surprisingly warm green fire was blazing in the fireplace. Professor Snape and a few groups of prefects were handing out timetables. It looked like the Slytherins had most of their classes with the Gryffindors, aside from Herbology with the Ravenclaws and Astronomy with the Hufflepuffs. Their first class of the day was Transfiguration.

Followed by Malfoy, they made it to the classroom a few minutes early, and were interested to note that Professor McGonagall was not present. In her place, a stern-looking tabby cat sat on her desk. It had strange glasses-markings on its face.

Ron Weasley, the slightly rude redhead from the train, walked in a few minutes after class was technically supposed to start. He breathed a sigh of relief, and took a seat. Suddenly, the cat transformed into Professor McGonagall.

"Do not make being late a habit, Mr. Weasley."

"I got lost, Professor," he whined.

"Perhaps I should transfigure you a map next time, then." The entire class broke out into snickers as a red-faced Ron slumped backwards in his chair.

Professor McGonagall showed them a few more examples of Transfiguration, and even turned her desk into a pig and back again. The class clapped for her feat of magic, while Tom muttered "show-off" under his breath. Harry shook his head, knowing that Tom was just jealous.

McGonagall handed them each matchsticks, and had showed them how to turn them into needled. It was all about intention, she told them.

After a few tries, Tom managed to get his to change completely. Now it was Harry's turn to mutter "show off," but with some more focus, he changed his soon after. The entire process was quite difficult, though, because it required extremely strong concentration. Professor McGonagall, who still seemed to be a bit shaky while around Tom, awarded them each five points for Slytherin.

However, when Hermione Granger, the bossy girl who had been sorted into Gryffindor, managed to completely transfigure her match, McGonagall offered her five points, a smile, and a compliment. "Wonderful work, Miss Granger," she said. Tom scowled.

Following Transfiguration was Charms class. Their professor was also the head of Ravenclaw, and was quite short. His name was Filius Flitwick, as they soon came to know. He squeaked when he called out Harry's name for attendance, much to Harry's chagrin. Really, he didn't understand why he himself was so special, rather than his action of vanquishing the Dark Lord or whatever.

Nevertheless, the class was relatively interesting. He explained the levitation charm, with the incantation Wingardium Leviosa, to them, and allowed them to practice it on feathers. Charms came naturally to Harry, and he was pleased that he was able to levitate his feather moments before Tom was. Professor Flitwick also gave them five points each, and seemed especially pleased at their skill.

Their final class of the day was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Everyone was looking forward to the class, because it had a reputation for involving more action and practical application of knowledge than just textbook study. It turned out to be a letdown, though.

Professor Quirrell was a nervous, trembly man with a horrible stutter. He (and his classroom) absolutely reeked of garlic, as Quirrell was apparently worried that a vampire he'd encountered over the summer was trying to get revenge on him. Whenever someone asked him about any of his adventures, he would blush and stutter and eventually change the subject of the conversation.

Harry and Tom had already decided to practice the Defense curriculum on their own, as they soon realized that they were going to get nowhere with their current professor.

* * *

On Friday, they had their first classes with their head of house, double Potions. Harry was very excited for Potions class. He'd read the textbook and was amazed by the limitless possibilities that one could accomplish by simply brewing a potion. On the other hand, Snape didn't really seem to like him that much, based on the feeling that Harry got from the man. In class, Harry and Tom found themselves sharing a cauldron. Abruptly, Snape turned his attention onto Harry.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Potter…our new celebrity."

"Present, sir," Harry said meekly, not really sure what to do and not wanting to upset the professor.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hermione Granger had raised her hand and was now waving it around furiously.

Harry's brain practically froze as he was trying to remember what he read. "The Draught of Living Death, sir?"

"Do not pose your answers as questions in my class, Potter," Snape spit out. "Where would you be able to find a bezoar?"

"With the potions supplies," came Harry's deadpan response. Noticing Snape's scowl, he quickly added, "Or in the stomach of a goat."

"What, pray tell, is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Hermione Granger, once again, raised her hand and sat pin-straight in her seat. It was starting to get annoying, Harry thought offhandedly. He had no idea how to answer Snape's question — after all, this information wasn't in the textbook, and he hadn't been able to do any extra reading yet.

Going with a wild guess, and a bit of humor, he said, "The name, sir." To his complete disbelief, it was right, and Snape looked, dare Harry say it, a bit impressed.

The rest of the class was spent brewing the boil-cure potion, and his and Tom's turned out relatively well. Unfortunately, it was very slightly more teal than the forest green it was supposed to be, which annoyed Tom greatly. Otherwise, they had done an acceptable job. The lesson ended after Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor who was quickly proving himself to be less than competent, melted his Potions partner's cauldron.


	7. Fluffy

"Let's go to the third-floor corridor tonight," Harry said. Currently, he was very bored in the common room, considering that he'd done all of his weekend homework the night before.

"I'd rather practice Defense."

"We don't even know where we're going to do that yet, Tom. If we go and explore the castle, we can find a good place."

"Fine," Tom grumbled. "Just let me finish this chapter." He'd been taking advantage of the expansive library at Hogwarts, and was reading a book on modern wizarding history.

They snuck out of the common room, and Harry was sure to note that the new password for the week was "tradition." They traveled up the stairs until they reached the third floor, which was completely deserted. There weren't very many doors, only sleeping portraits of witches and wizards. The one door that they did find was locked, so Harry tried out the new unlocking charm that they'd recently read about.

"Alohomora," he said. The door unlocked with a click. If whatever was behind the door was really that dangerous, surely the headmaster would have protected it with a stronger spell. Harry's logic was proven to be wrong, however, when he and Tom turned around and found themselves face-to-face with a hellhound. It snapped and growled at them.

They slammed the door shut and left the corridor as quickly as they could. Harry's heart was racing. "Tom, never let me do anything like that again," he said.

"I don't think you'd listen."

"Just make me, okay. Also, do you know of any ways to calm a hellhound?"

"Not off of the top of my head, but we can research it. It was guarding something, There was a trapdoor underneath its body."

"I wonder what," Harry thought aloud. "It's obviously something that wasn't at Hogwarts before, because Dumbledore mentioned it like it was new during his speech."

Tom didn't reply. Harry thought for a few seconds, then remembered that Hagrid had invited him for tea on Saturday. "Let's ask Hagrid tomorrow," he said.

"Hagrid? Why him?"

"Well, for one, he invited me for tea tomorrow. Secondly, he knows a lot about the school, and has a tendency to say things he shouldn't. We'll be able to ask him and get information."

Tom's eyes glinted in the cold lighting of the dungeons. "I see," he said finally.

They walked down to Hagrid's hut in the afternoon on Saturday. That morning, during breakfast, they'd received a strange note from the headmaster inviting them to a different meeting. So, they were going to make the visit at Hagrid's a quick one before going to Dumbledore's office. Harry wondered why he wanted to meet with both of them.

Harry knocked on Hagrid's door and heard a loud barking coming from inside. Hagrid lumbered over to the door and opened it, seeming pleased to see Harry and surprised to see Tom.

"I was hoping it'd be alright if Tom came along," Harry explained.

Hagrid nodded. "Come on in. I made yeh some rock cakes."

The rock cakes were practically impossible to eat, so they stuffed them in their robe pockets for later disposal. Hagrid chatted with them about their classes, and how life in Slytherin was.

"I have ter say, Harry, I found meself a bi' surprised ter see yeh in Slytherin. Yer parents were Gryffindors, yeh know."

"No, I didn't know. I like my house, though; it suits me."

"Tom, yer father was a Slytherin too, so yer Sorting wasn' surprisin' at all."

"Really?" Tom said with interest. "What else do you know about my father?" Harry glared at Tom. He knew that his "father" was actually him, and something weird could happen if he knew his past.

"He was a prefec' here a' Hogwarts. Good studen', too. I never did know wha' happened ter him after he left Hogwarts."

"Oh," Tom said. "On a different note, it's funny. The other day we were getting acquainted with the castle and we came across a hellhound — a giant, three-headed dog."

"How do yeh know abou' Fluffy?" Hagrid exclaimed.

"Fluffy? You named it?"

"Yeah — he's mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year — I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

"The what?" Tom asked, eyes gleaming

"Now, tha's somethin' between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel, tha' is."

"Nicholas Flamel, you say?"

Hagrid looked deeply annoyed with his actions. "Sholdn' have said tha'," he kept muttering.

Tom and Harry bid Hagrid goodbye and set off to find the headmaster's office. The office entrance turned out to be a stone gargoyle, which spiraled upwards when they said the password "Chocolate Frogs." When they made it to the top, they found all kinds of buzzing, whirring, and clicking trinkets. In the far corner of the office, there sat a fiery-looking bird with red and gold feathers.

"Ah, Harry," he said with a smile. His featured grew slightly more dim. "Tom." Dumbledore inclined his head towards both of them.

"Why did you want to see us, Professor?" Harry asked.

"I'll admit, Harry, as Hagrid has undoubtedly already told you, your sorting into Slytherin was surprising."

"Well, I didn't exactly grow up with my parents, though. I've been on my own for most of my life, and I just had to adapt."

"Hmm, yes." The headmaster pushed a tray of yellow candies towards them. "Lemon drop?" They shook their heads.

"And Tom," he began, sitting back in his chair. "I didn't think I'd see you again. What I would like to know is how you are here."

"You see, sir, I'm not actually your Tom Riddle. I'm his son."

Dumbledore chuckled, the twinkle gone from his eyes. "That may fool the others, but it cannot do so for me. So I'm asking again, how did you time travel over fifty years into the future?"

Tom sighed. "There was this necklace, a golden one. I found it near the orphanage, and then I spun the hourglass. Next thing I knew, I was at the orphanage, being shaken awake by Harry."

Dumbledore thought for a moment. "That reminds me, Harry. We were also rather surprised to find that you'd been taken to an orphanage. Previously, you had been in the care of your maternal relatives. Do you know how your transfer may have happened?"

Now it was Harry's turn to sigh. "They weren't nice people, the Dursleys, I mean. Dudley, their son, was spoiled rotten and always beat me up. One day, he and his friends were really going at it, and something inside of me just snapped." He took a breath. "They ran away screaming, and their ears started bleeding, and that was when my 'freakishness' had gone on for long enough. My uncle realized that they couldn't 'stamp the magic out of me,' so he dropped me off at an orphanage when I was six."

A dark look passed over Dumbledore's face, but he quickly recovered his composition. His eyes twinkled again. "It's nearing curfew, if I'm not mistaken, so you two had best be on your way back." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thank you, Professor," they both said.


	8. Flying Lessons

Thursday was very important. Flying lessons would be starting, and Harry absolutely couldn't wait. Tom, on the other hand, was feeling apprehensive.

"I don't like heights, and I don't like relying on a wooden stick to keep me from falling."

"Come on, Tom. I'm sure it will be fine. You're a natural at all other types of magic, so why not flying?"

"Because it's like a sport. They used to force us to play sports at school, and I was always bad at them. No exceptions."

"Flying is better than those Muggle sports anyway. Just try it — I'm sure you'll do well."

Tom grumbled, but they went to the grassy field outside where several Gryffindors were waiting already. Brooms were placed in neat lines beside them. Neville Longbottom appeared to be showing his classmates a glass sphere with red smoke in it.

"I can't seem to remember what I've forgotten, though," he said.

Draco Malfoy and his entourage (consisting of Crabbe and Goyle) appeared just then, and he sneered at Longbottom. "You couldn't remember to do anything even if there was a reminder right in front of your nose, Longbottom."

A few of the Gryffindors glared at him and looked ready to say something, but were stopped when Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, stepped out onto the field.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go on, stand by a broom." Everyone scrambled to find a broom. Madam Hooch's yellow eyes surveyed the students.

"Stick your right hand up over your broom, and say UP!" The students complied. Harry's old and ragged broom shot up into his hand immediately, while Tom seemed a bit frustrated at his before it also leapt into his hand. Others, though, were not as lucky. Hermione Granger was reddening more and more as she continued to command "Up!", and Longbottom's broom was just rolling around on the floor. Eventually, some of the students resorted to simply picking their brooms up off of the ground.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard." She marched between the two rows of students and brooms. ""Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —"

Neville Longbottom, jumpy and nervous, kicked off the ground too early. His broom floated lazily upwards, and he was gripping the broomstick so tightly that his knuckles were white. Suddenly, the broom bucked, and Neville fell to the ground with a crunch.

"Pathetic," Tom whispered to Harry. He was inclined to agree, but would never say it out loud.

It turned out that Neville had a broken wrist, and Madam Hooch left to accompany him to the hospital wing. In the meanwhile, no one was supposed to use the brooms. Of course, that didn't stop Draco Malfoy, who turned to Harry.

"You've been rather distant, Harry. I thought we were supposed to be acquaintances."

"It seems that you're right, for once, Draco. What would this acquaintanceship require?"

Harry noticed that the whole group was watching their interaction with interest, though Ron Weasley was scowling.

"Play a little game of catch with me," Draco said, picking Neville's Rememberall off of the ground. He mounted his broom and soared into the air, then turned around and waited for Harry to follow.

"That idiot!" Harry exclaimed. Reluctantly, he stepped over his broom and willed it to go up. It did exactly that, and Harry was pleased to find that he was able to control the broom well.

"It's no wonder that you don't have any real friends when you pull stunts like this, Draco."

Draco furrowed his brows, as if realizing that exact same thing. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's too late to apologize now, seeing as we're about fifty feet off of the ground. Just give me the Rememberall."

He pulled the red sphere out of his pocket again, and made to hand it to Harry, but it slipped out of his grasp. Cursing the world, Harry sped after it. What had he gotten himself into? He dove lower, and lower, and lower, and finally caught the blasted thing when his feet were just inches away from the ground. The class clapped, but they looked rather confused. Malfoy landed next to where Harry stood, just as Professor McGonagall appeared and strode furiously towards them.

"I swear, if you get me expelled, you will never fly a broom again," Harry whispered to Malfoy.

"Never — in all my time at Hogwarts," she was saying. "— how dare you — might have broken your neck." McGonagall was definitely angry, and Harry was definitely in trouble.

"Detentions to both of you, Potter, Malfoy. I expect you in my office at seven this evening." They nodded, and the rest of the class stood in shock. "At this point, I doubt that Madam Hooch will be able to make it in time to teach you anything substantial, so the rest of your lesson for today is cancelled." A few students groaned, but they headed back towards the castle nonetheless.

"Nice going, Harry," Tom said. "Honestly, it probably would have been better for the whole school to know that we're parselmouths than to have to put up with the blonde menace."

"I beg to differ. Even if he is pretty horrible, his father has lots of political connections, from what I've heard. And our little deal extends to Draco's father, meaning that he can't use the information against us."

"Is that so? I'm glad to see that you're actually thinking like a Slytherin. I wasn't sure if you'd persuaded the Hat to put you in Slytherin or if it actually wanted to."

"A bit of both, actually. I'm every bit as Slytherin as you, aside from the extreme hunger for power."

"Hey!" Tom yelled and playfully punched him. Once Harry was in bed, ready to fall asleep, he realized something: Hogwarts was the first place he'd been where he'd found actual hope and friendship. Even if it was in the form of Tom.

* * *

The atmosphere of the school seemed vastly different when Harry walked into the Great Hall on Monday morning. As soon as he entered, the room quieted and most of the students looked up at him. He was puzzled until Theodore Nott silently handed over a copy of the Daily Prophet, which was the main newspaper of magical Britain. The disturbing thing, though, was Nott's knowing smirk.

"Beacon of Light or the Next Dark Lord?: The Boy Who Lived is Sorted into Slytherin" read the headline. The article was written by someone named Rita Skeeter, and whoever she was, Harry already didn't like her. He kept reading, trying to suppress his groan.

Harry Potter, widely known for vanquishing He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named on that fateful Halloween night (see page B29), began his education at Hogwarts this year. Obviously, the reporters here at the Daily Prophet were curious. Would Potter be sorted into the house of his parents, Lily and James Potter, and become a proud Gryffindor? Was he loyal and hardworking, and thus a Hufflepuff? Or, would be enter the house of the eagles, Ravenclaw, prized for its emphasis on knowledge and learning?

Imagine our surprise when we heard word that Harry was sorted into Slytherin. This, mind you, is a house with a known history of blood-based prejudice. Salazar Slytherin himself was fabled to have build a chamber containing a monster that would purge the school of Muggleborns. The Dark Lord himself was a Slytherin, and the vast majority of his servants also originated from the house of the serpents. Being surrounded by those from a house so utterly dark, we can only wonder what will become of Harry Potter. Let's just hope that it's not another Dark Lord.

"Wow, they just took Slytherin stereotypes and blew them out of proportion," Harry commented, his face devoid of any emotion. He turned to those who were still staring and obviously waiting for a reaction. "Go on, think what you want. Think about what's really logical — you'll soon realize that those insinuations are false."

They quickly turned away. Harry had lost his appetite, and so he grabbed Tom's arm and strode out of the Great Hall.

"How can I get back at The Daily Prophet?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Got any ideas?"

Tom smiled thoughtfully. Revenge was area of expertise. He'd gotten back at the other children at the orphanage plenty of times, and this time was no exception. Finally, an idea came to him. "Make them sound ridiculous. Send an anonymous letter with some bizarre news about you — I'll write it so that they won't know it's you. It has to be within reason, though. After all, the best lies are based on the truth." He smirked.

"Brilliant, Tom. Thanks." During their morning free period, Harry made up a _completely_ ludicrous story about how he was a parselmouth, and how he had trained with Lord Voldemort himself since he was a year old. Tom wrote it down, and they sent it off with Harry's owl, whom he had decided to name Hedwig after a historical figure from his textbook.


	9. Halloween

Author's Note: Here's the next chapter. I should have more up this weekend. Thank you for all of the support — it's been coming in fast and I never expected so much this early on. As always, reviews are welcome and much appreciated. Thanks!

* * *

As soon as Harry woke up on the morning of Halloween, he knew that it was not going to be a good day. To begin with, it was the day that his parents were murdered. Quirrell was his usual, stuttering self, and Professor McGonagall had given them a surprise quiz that he hadn't studied for. He could only hope to get a good grade. To end the day, Snape had decided to keep him after class, just before the Halloween feast. Currently, he was waiting for the others to clean up the mess they had produced while brewing a mild Ailment Ointment.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said courteously, though his eyes burned with something akin to hatred, or maybe fury. "Professor McGonagall told me of your little stunt with Malfoy. I do not want anything like that to happen again, seeing as it effectively tarnishes the reputation of Slytherin."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, Potter, it just so happens that our current seeker on the Quidditch team is — less than satisfactory. I would like Slytherin to maintain its winning streak, so I am giving you one chance to try out for the team. Flint will be waiting at the Quidditch pitch tomorrow to test your skills."

"Thank you for the opportunity, sir," Harry said, excitement bubbling up within him. He found that the best way to avoid Snape's wrath was short, concise answers.

Snape frowned. "You will be using a school broom for the tryout."

Harry nodded, and Snape dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He met Tom outside of the Potions classroom.

"So what do you think?" Harry asked him.

"About what?"

"Don't try to play innocent. I know you…you were eavesdropping," Harry said good-naturedly.

Tom sighed. "Quidditch is a dangerous sport, Harry. Not that I care about your welfare or anything."

"Well, if you don't care about me, then you _obviously_ won't care if I just try out," reasoned Harry with a knowing smile.

"Not at all."

"You wound me, Tom. Besides, it's gotten safer over the years."

"Keep telling yourself that. I'll be there, laughing when you fall off your broom."

"Did it just get colder in here? Must be your heart. Come on, let's go to the feast."

When they entered the Great Hall, the sight of flying bats and even more cobwebs than usual assaulted them. Charmed, chocolate spiders crawled between the food dishes, and large bowls of candy made sugary additions to the normal spread of food. Draco Malfoy was sucking on an Acid-Pop, and Crabbe and Goyle were simultaneously stuffing their faces. It almost looked like an eating contest. To make sure he was maintaining his "acquaintanceship" with Malfoy, he sat down next to him.

"What did Snape want?" Draco asked.

"Something about our little 'incident,'" Harry casually replied.

" _What_ about it, though? He didn't say anything to me."

"My, nosy, aren't we? That's probably because he favors you. Everyone knows he hates me, but I have no idea why."

"I can ask my father. Snape's always coming over to our house for business."

"Thanks, Draco. I apprecia—" Harry was interrupted by Professor Quirrell, who ran into the room, looking even more pale than he normally was.

"Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know." He collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Dumbledore stood up and silenced the crowd with several purple firecrackers. "Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Tom turned to Harry. "What an interesting turn of events," he said, at the exact same time that Harry said "But our dormitories are _in_ the dungeons." They sat silently as the rest of their house followed the rule-adhering, but maybe not-so-intelligent prefects.

"You know what? We should go to the bathroom. I read an American Muggle children's book before, and it said that one of the safest places to go in the case of a tornado is the bathrooms," Harry rambled.

"Right, because a troll is the equivalent of a tornado." Tom sighed. "It's probably our safest bet, though."

They easily slipped away in the commotion and set off to find a restroom. The nearest one happened to be a women's lavatory, but Harry didn't find himself inclined to care when a mountain troll was rampant in the school. They walked in and closed the door behind them, glad to find that they could lock it. Sighing in relief, Harry and Tom were about to slump against the door when they realized that they had been more stupid than the others. The troll was locked in the bathroom with three first years: Tom, Harry, and Hermione Granger. The expression of shock would've normally been comical on Tom's face.

Harry began firing mild cutting curses at the troll. "Diffindo!" he exclaimed, annoyed to see that it wasn't really working and that the troll was getting ready to strike with its wooden club.

"TROLLS ARE RESISTANT TO MOST MAGIC, HARRY!" Tom shouted as he backed into a corner. It was the first time that Harry had seen him look truly scared.

"Er...what magic aren't they resistant to?" asked Hermione Granger in a small voice.

"Dark magic, because they're technically Dark creatures," Harry finally said, also backed into the corner.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The troll's club, affected by Tom's spell, lifted up and began pounding the troll on the head. Bruises were already beginning to form.

In a moment of brilliance, Harry decided to try to use their recently-learned Transfiguration spell to turn a stretch of broken pipe into a needle. It took a lot of energy, but he was finally satisfied with its sharpness and levitated it, using the same spell that Tom had, faster and faster until it pierced the troll's heart. Noticing that it was dying, he managed to unlock the door, followed by Tom. When he exited the bathroom, he noticed that his hands were shaking uncontrollably, and his breaths were quick and shallow. What had he just done?

* * *

They escaped to a nearby corridor, deserted from the hasty evacuation of the students. From behind the corner, they watched McGonagall and Snape (who had an obvious limp) enter the lavatory and try to make coherence out of Hermione's sobs, though they didn't wait around to see what she said. Harry ran back to the dormitory, shouting the password at the Slytherin portrait of a king and pressing against the wall to try to enter the common room unnoticed.

"Just where do you think you're going, Potter? Riddle?" Gemma Farley, a seventh-year prefect, asked them.

"All of the commotion has made me tired, so I was just heading back to the dorms," Harry said in his sweetest voice.

"And where were you when we were calling attendance?"

"We made a quick trip to the bathroom. Sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused," Tom added, a sincere (but not really) smile plastered on his face.

Gemma Farley gave them a scrutinizing look, but allowed them to head back to their dormitories anyway. Both of them let out a sigh of relief.


	10. Quidditch

The next day turned out to be freezing cold. Harry, dressed in just his school robes, felt goosebumps prickle on his arms, and he realized that he should've put on his winter cloak. The chilling humidity in the air didn't help, either, as he walked down to the Quidditch pitch with Tom. They had woken up early (well, more like Tom had and then prodded Harry until he had woken up too), so they had no way of knowing what the reaction to last night's incident would be. Tom was still annoyed with the whole concept of flying and Quidditch, and so held a frosty expression on his face.

Harry could already see a green blur in the air who he supposed was Marcus Flint, Slytherin's Quidditch captain, as he flew laps around the pitch. In all honesty, though, the sport didn't seem like it required much physical activity. Maybe magical, to maneuver the broom, but it wasn't overly strenuous. Of course, Harry's musings were proven wrong.

"Potter! The only reason you're here is to win, and if you can't do that, then you don't belong here." Flint had landed next to Harry. Behind him, the current Seeker, Terrence Higgs, was trying to look nonchalant.

Harry swallowed, unsure of what to say. Meanwhile, Tom had taken a seat in the empty Slytherin stands with his arms crossed.

"You're up against Higgs to catch the Snitch. You know what that is, right?" Flint questioned. Harry nodded, having read _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

Harry was handed a worn-out school broom, and the game commenced quickly. After a few seconds, the golden gleam of the Snitch was nowhere to be seen in the fog that had swept over the school's grounds. He followed Higgs' actions as he circled the pitch. Hours could have passed, for all Harry knew. Tom looked to be increasingly bored, from what little Harry could tell.

Finally, off by the Gryffindor-colored flag, Harry caught a quick glimpse of the Snitch, and, a second later, Higgs did too. Harry raced off towards it, in the lead, but Higgs was quickly gaining on him because of his much faster broom.

The Snitch dropped towards the ground rapidly, then rose again, spiraling and flitting and all-around taunting them. It eventually began to hover against the stands, dangerously close. Harry realized that if he sped off towards it, he was liable to hit the stands in a head-on collision. He and Higgs were racing side by side, and Harry mentally cursed the school broom for being so slow. At the last minute, the Snitch was a mere foot away from the wood of the stands.

Higgs pulled away in time to avoid any collision, whereas Harry kept flying until his hand felt the cool metal wings of the Snitch. Thinking quickly, he sharply turned his broom away from the stands to lessen the impact. He practically rolled off of the broom and into the bleachers, but stood up right away.

A slow clapping was emanating from the pitch. Flint had a smug look on his face. "Keep flying like that, and we're sure to have the Quidditch Cup for the next seven years."

Higgs had gone red in the face and stormily flew off, his broom and all of his bones still intact. Harry was astonished that he'd actually gotten a spot on the team, with a school broom, no less.

"And to think I gave you the worst broom of the lot!" Flint exclaimed excitedly. "You fly like a Gryffindor, Potter. That'll give us an unexpected edge...yes." The older boy's eyes had a sort of glaze to them as he thought of this year's Quidditch season.

"Well, thanks, then. I'll just be going—"

"—a good broom. I'll talk to Professor Snape—"

"—Alright, bye then," Harry finally said, breaking off the other's ramblings, a bit overwhelmed.

* * *

Thoroughly frozen to the bone, Harry was glad to be within the Hogwarts castle once more. At breakfast, they were serving hot chocolate as a special treat, which made Harry's day even better. Things were going normally, maybe even a bit better than normal, when a school owl flew down and landed between the toast and the strawberries on the table. It held out a note for Harry.

 _Dear Harry and Tom,_

 _Thank you for your actions yesterday against the troll. I don't know what I would have done had the both of you not been there. The thought makes me shudder. Even if you didn't mean to save me (though why were you trying to get into a girls' bathroom anyway?), I'm grateful._

 _However, as you may have presumed, the troll died. The professors were looking to see who did it — they even cast a something on my wand that showed all of the prior spells I had done. I told them that two older students had saved me, but they were ashamed that they had gone to such extreme measures and had thus run off._

 _So, once again, thank you. I owe you; let me know if you ever need a favor._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Hermione Granger_

Harry wordlessly handed the letter over to Tom, who read it briefly.

"Gryffindors," he said finally. "Gryffindors and their sense of morality. I just don't understand it."

"You wouldn't, seeing as your moral compass is so skewed that you're bordering on insane as a person."

"How did you know?" Tom faked surprise. "But really, though, how did you? About my morality, I mean. Is it that obvious?"

Harry squirmed. "It's just a gut feeling, I guess. It's common among orphans like us, and maybe I've gotten so used to it that I can recognize it."

"I used to try to make myself feel things," Tom said solemnly. "I tried to feel love first, then guilt. I used to hurt animals and the other children to see if I would feel bad for doing it afterwards."

Tom clamped his mouth shut, as if ashamed for exposing that much about himself. "I didn't. The only time I could really feel was when I was angry."

Harry had known that Tom was different, sure, but he hadn't realized that it was this extreme. It almost seemed like something was wrong with the other, though Harry would never point that out. "It's okay, Tom," was the only thing Harry said. "How is the snake doing?" He halfheartedly tried to change the subject of the conversation.

"I named her Mari. I'm not sure why, but the name seemed to fit so I went with it. Most of the time, she stays in my trunk, though she goes out to hunt too."

"I like the name. It does suit her, but I feel bad...I kind of forgot about her until today," Harry said earnestly, with a small smile.

Tom just shook his head.

* * *

Classes passed as usual, and the students were all excited about the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match on Saturday. Harry had returned to the dorms on Wednesday to find a long, thin package on his bed, which had turned out to be a Nimbus 2000 broom. The latest gossip was that the troll had been killed by an anonymous seventh year, saving a first year in the process, but even that talk faded away.

The only weird thing that happened was Professor Quirrell asking Tom to stay after class on Thursday. Like had become routine whenever teachers needed to talk to one of them, Harry waited just outside the classroom doors. Unfortunately, because the Defense classroom was so large, he wasn't able to eavesdrop all that well.

When he heard Tom shout, though, he rushed into Quirrell's office. He seemed different than his regular, shivery self. His eyes were a bloody red color, and he had Tom pinned to his desk with his arms behind him. His wand was pointed at Tom's head.

"How did you get here? Tell me, now!"

"I don't know what you mean, sir! Did Professor Dumbledore tell you something?"

"I know who you are, Riddle. Don't lie. How did you get here?"

"I told you already, I have no idea what you're talking about! Just ask Dumbledore!"

" _Will this help you out, Tom?_ " Quirrell hissed in Parseltongue. Tom's body went rigid.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Give it some thought." Quirrell pushed Tom up and shoved him towards the door, then saw Harry standing there in shock. Using some spell, he bound their feet to the floor so that they couldn't move.

" _Obliviate,_ " he whispered twice.

Tom and Harry found themselves in the Slytherin common room with no recollection of how they had gotten there. There was a lost period of time — was it really possible for the walk back to the common room to take half an hour? — that they couldn't explain. Nevertheless, they started their homework, a bit confused if nothing else.


	11. Slytherin vs Gryffindor

Minerva McGonagall was not one to worry, but even if she did, she kept it to herself. She'd seen enough in her thirty years as a Hogwarts professor to fill books. However, she was worried today, outwardly so. She paced around her classroom, waiting for the third year students.

She'd been expecting the worst when Neville Longbottom, one of her Gryffindors, had told her that Hermione Granger was in the bathroom and didn't know about the troll. Rushing to find the girl with a limping Snape at her heels (must've been something to do with the stone; she was too tired to care), she was too preoccupied to notice the two, small green-and-black blurs that rushed past them.

The sight inside the bathroom was gory, to say the least. A large puddle of blood was leaking out onto the floor, and she'd arrived just in time to see the troll shudder its last breath. Severus angrily rushed over to Granger, about to scold her for her stupidity, when something stopped him.

Granger hadn't done this. She was crying about how she hadn't meant for anyone to save her, or for the troll to die. Severus took her wand and performed "Prior Incantato" on it, showing that the last spell used was the green sparks spell for Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Severus turned to Hermione in suspicion. "If you didn't do this, then who did?"

Hermione sputtered, then looked resigned. "Two students, but I can't tell you their names, sir. I'm so sorry. They saved me and I-I can't get them in trouble."

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for reckless behavior. This castle is a large place, Ms. Granger, and it can be dangerous to go off on your own. Incidents such as this will not be tolerated in the future." Snape turned and walked out of the room, his robes billowing behind him. Hermione bowed her head.

Minerva allowed herself a barely-there smile. "Twenty points to Gryffindor for loyalty and bravery in a dire situation."

"B-but I wasn't brave, Professor McGonagall." Hermione was openly crying, her eyes red and her cheeks streaked with tears.

"You didn't crack while being interrogated by Professor Snape, did you? Now that would be something considered brave by most."

Hermione looked up at her in shock, then a sad smile passed over her face.

"Thank you, Professor."

"It's nothing, Ms. Granger. For the future, however, I implore you not to make the same mistake."

"I won't, ma'am. I promise."

Hermione Granger had a lot of potential, Minerva thought. She was one of few students at the top of her class, and the professor had a feeling that her future would be bright, extremely so.

* * *

The first Quidditch match of the season was also the one featuring the most animosity between houses. Gryffindor and Slytherin would be playing each other. No one (well, except for Terrence Higgs, Snape, Flint, and Tom) knew that Harry was Slytherin's new seeker, especially because Flint had forced him to practice in the middle of the night, separately from everyone else. "You're our secret weapon," he'd say happily to a completely exhausted Harry.

Tom wasn't overly keen on the idea of going to a social event such as a Quidditch game, especially where he wouldn't even be participating and would instead by waiting by the sidelines of the pitch. He finally agreed to go when Harry told him that he could bring a book to read, though Harry thought that he had perhaps been planning on going anyway and just didn't want to admit it.

Harry changed into the emerald green Quidditch robes he'd found on his bed one evening. It fit him perfectly, and after a second, he realized that it must've been magic — some sort of tailoring charm.

He walked to the pitch, then entered the athletics lavatory and locker room where the teams met before matches. As he entered, he heard five simultaneous gasps.

"Potter? A measly first-year?" one of the beaters, Bole, exclaimed.

"He's supposed to be our secret weapon?" drawled the other beater, Derrick.

"You'll see," Flint grumbled. When one of the Chasers scoffed, he asked "Who's the captain here?" in a booming voice, which quickly quieted the team.

"Now, Potter, just find the Snitch. Don't worry about anyone else on the field. Their Seeker's hardly worth a Knut. Cormac McLaggen — just some second year desperate for a spot on the team."

"If you say so," Harry said warily. They headed out onto the field, with Harry relishing the nice weight of his Nimbus 2000 in his hand. Flint went to face-off with the Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood, who was also their Keeper.

"I expect a clean, fair game," Madam Hooch said with a pointed glance at the Slytherin team. Flint and Wood reluctantly shook hands, glaring at each other. A shrill blow of Hooch's whistle meant that the game had begun.

Harry quickly ascended high above the pitch. The people below now looked like little more than blurs. Perhaps he should get his glasses prescription checked, he thought offhandedly. The Slytherin stands were filled with green, the Ravenclaw stands with blue, and so on. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw McLaggen rise up beside him.

"I suppose I have to thank you," he started, his eyes glinting maliciously. "If you had been in Gryffindor, I never would have had this position."

"So you're admitting that you're a worse Seeker than I am," Harry finally said, his eyes still searching for the Snitch.

McLaggen sputtered, then flew off. Getting rid of him was easier than Harry had thought it would be. Absentmindedly, Harry heard Lee Jordan, the announcer, call out a few Gryffindor goals, along with a foul on Gryffindor. Leave it to Slytherins to keep up with the stereotypes they were subject to.

"And Katie Bell makes the penalty shot after nearly falling from her broom. But I'm sure it was an accident on the Slytherin team's par—"

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall scolded over the intercom. Harry snickered to himself.

Harry's eyes landed on the Snitch, which was close to the Hufflepuff stands in midair. He swept toward it, only for his broom to suddenly lurch. It started bucking uncontrollably, and slowly the attention of the Hogwarts students became focused on him.

The broom dipped lower and lower, thrashing until Harry was holding on by just one hand. The Snitch was now within an arm's reach, but he couldn't stay still for long enough to grab it.

"It looks like the Slytherin Seeker, who was an unexpected addition to the team this year, being only a first-year, has lost control of his broom," Lee Jordan announced. His tone had become more serious. "The score stands at 90-10 with Gryffindor in the lead."

Suddenly, Harry found himself falling to the ground as his broom jerked one more time. He clenched his eyes shut, expecting the worst, but willing his fall to be stopped at the same time. Surprisingly, he felt his momentum slow, and he hovered for a second before falling to the ground, exhausted. Gradually, his knuckles regained their coloration and the Snitch fell from his hand onto the ground.

There was a moment of confusion, then the Slytherin stands erupted in cheers. The other members of the team flew down to pat him on the back.

"Well, er, it looks like Slytherin has won 160-90. Unexpected, really, but that all could've been a devious stunt — you know it's in their nature."

"JORDAN!" The microphone signal cut off abruptly.

"Well done, Potter. It was pretty clever of you to fake a jinxed broom," Pucey, the Keeper, begrudgingly said.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Harry admitted. "Someone else was doing that."

Before long, a path had cleared among the students who had flooded the field. It turned out to be Snape, a furious scowl on his face. "Let me see your broom, Potter," he snapped. He took out his wand and cast a few spells, then shook his head.

"A Confundus Charm, performed directly on the broom," he finally said. "I'll handle this, Potter." Snape looked at Harry with a sneer, then walked off. The professor honestly was the most confusing person he'd met, other than Tom, of course.

Speaking of Tom, he was standing off to the side of the crowd, his book still in hand. He opened his mouth to say something, but obviously decided against it, giving Harry a knowing glance.

Once back in the castle, Harry changed and showered faster than he ever had before, eager to hear what Tom knew. He pulled open the other's bed hangings to a glaring Tom. "It was Quirrell," was all he said before whipping them shut again.


	12. The Philosopher's Stone

Author's Note: I want to upload a cover picture for this story, as well as a profile picture for myself, but I can't figure out how to do it. Whenever I go to the Image Manager and try to upload a photo, it just ends up with a white screen. I've been using my Mac for everything, and have tried every browser that I can, but nothing's working. Does anyone have any advice? I'm hesitant to post about this in the support section for the website.

As always, please read and review! I've been getting a lot of support for this story, and I can't thank everyone enough.

* * *

The first term was passing rapidly. It was already mid-December, and the castle was decorated in the most magnificent Christmas decorations Harry had ever seen. Frosty blue lights adorned fresh-scented pine trees, and festive garlands of holly were were wrapped around the light fixtures. There was simply a festive feeling in the air.

He and Tom had discussed any motives the Quirrell might've had to try to kill him, but they came up with nothing. They did vow to find out who Nicholas Flamel was over the holiday, though.

"Harry," Draco Malfoy said quietly, tapping the boy on the shoulder. They were at dinner, and it was the Friday before most of the students would be leaving for the winter holidays.

"What is it, Draco?" The friendship between them was still forced at best, and nonexistent at worst. Harry had to consciously think about talking to Draco everyday.

"I sent my father a letter asking why Snape would have any animosity towards you," he explained.

"And?"

"Apparently, er, well..." Draco stammered. Harry inched closer.

"Yes?"

"YourfatherusedtobullySnape," Draco exclaimed quickly, without taking a breath.

"Oh," was all Harry said. "I see." He turned back to his steak and potatoes.

"That's all? You don't want to know anything else?"

"Well, you already told me what I wanted to know. What else is there?"

"Erm, apparently your father and his friends were going to prank Snape and then your dad saved his life."

"Hmm. Interesting." Harry once again turned back to his food. In reality, he was deep in thought, but it was really fun to make Malfoy frustrated. His cheeks had taken a bright pink tinge.

"I _could_ let a little secret slip," Draco said with a shrug.

Harry rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Is it really so hard for us to be friends?"

"Yes. Friendship isn't something that you blackmail other people for," Harry said pointedly.

"What if...we forgot about that? What if I promised not to tell anyone, no matter what?"

"It'd be a start," Tom chimed in from across the table. Draco and Harry looked at him. He shrugged, boredom apparent on his face. "Do you seriously expect me to sit directly across from you and _not_ hear your conversation?"

Ignoring Tom, Harry faced Draco. "Deal." He held out his hand, and Draco took it quickly.

* * *

By Sunday, the castle was almost completely deserted, aside from the professors, although the Arithmancy teacher and a few others had gone to visit family. The only students remaining were a few seventh-year and fifth-year students, who were completely immersed in their schoolwork.

Harry and Tom spent the whole day on Monday researching Nicholas Flamel, but they were unable to find anything. Harry found himself wishing for a Muggle computer, as wizarding libraries didn't have a standardized system for sorting books. The Hogwarts library just sorted them alphabetically by title.

Currently, Harry was reading _A Magical Encyclopedia: Eighth Edition_. Tom was engrossed in _Significant Wizards of the 20th Century_. Harry's eyes felt heavy, as if he could fall asleep at any given moment. He was about to when Tom broke their silence.

"I found something!" he exclaimed, all of his previous frustration gone. "I was reading the entry for Dumbledore—"

"—why?" Harry interrupted.

Tom frowned at him. "Curiosity. It says here that Dumbledore is known for his 'alchemy work with the esteemed Nicholas Flamel, the inventor of the Philosopher's Stone.'"

"So now we just need to find information on this stone," Harry concluded, and Tom nodded. He skimmed through the index of _A Magical Encyclopedia: Eighth Edition_ , pleased when he saw the words Philosopher's Stone, followed by a page number. Hastily, he flipped to page 467, then began to read aloud.

"'The Philosopher's Stone, created by famed alchemist Nicholas Flamel, has two main abilities. It can restore the user's vitality and life, providing immortality as long as the user consumes the Elixir of Life, which is produced by the Stone. It can also turn everyday objects into gold, allowing the user to dramatically increase his or her wealth.'"

"That must be what the cerberus is guarding," Tom said, his eyes glinting in thought. "Didn't Snape have a limp on Halloween? It was from some sort of bite, if I remember correctly."

"You're right. I didn't see any bite, but he was definitely limping. Do you think he's after the Stone?"

"Maybe. Quirrell definitely is. He tried to kill you, and you always get headaches during his class. There's something suspicious about that."

"We'll just have to watch them carefully, then."

"Or even better," Tom said. Harry shot him a questioning look. Tom smiled. "We could get the Stone ourselves."

"Are you insane, Tom? There's bound to be more protections than just Fluffy."

"Of course I am, and there probably are! But just consider it — immortality and wealth."

"And to think that you didn't even want to investigate the corridor before."

"Listen, why don't we just investigate it again? It's the winter holidays, and there'll be less surveillance."

"I still don't think it's a good idea."

Tom made a noncommittal "humph" noise. His eyes suddenly lit up. "I have an idea. What if we had a duel? If I win, we steal the Stone before anyone else, and if you win…"

Harry thought it over. They were pretty equal in level and skill, he presumed. "If I win, we just watch over it and make sure that Quirrell or Snape can't get to it."

Tom stretched out his hand. "Is it official?"

Harry snorted at his tone of voice, but shook anyway. "You're on. Tonight in the dormitory. It'll be deserted."

* * *

Harry faced Tom with a grin on his face. The other was trying to keep a poker face, and was only a little bit successful. With their wands up and their stances ready, the duel began.

" _Confringo!_ " Harry shouted. It had quickly became his favorite spell after he'd seen it in a third year Defense textbook.

" _Aguamenti!_ " Tom returned. A small jet of icy water shot out of his wand, effectively dousing Harry's fire.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Harry's charm missed Tom completely.

" _Flipendo!_ " Tom's spell caused Harry to stumble backwards.

" _Impedimenta!_ " The jinx struck Tom, and his movements were slowed significantly.

He scowled, then cast " _Finite Incantatem_ " on himself. " _Incarcerous!_ " Tom pointed his wand at Harry. Immediately, ropes appeared out of nowhere and tied Harry up.

" _Relashio_ ," Harry countered. He was beginning to feel a bit worn out, seeing as this was his first duel. However, he wasn't ready to give up. They continued to duel for five more minutes, and even Tom was looking exhausted.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " they cast at the same time. That was when something strange happened. The bright red spells met in midair, connecting in a shower of sparks. A fine golden web began to form, surrounding them.

The most weird part, though, was the spells coming out backwards from their wands. At first, it was just different colored flashes of light. Harry recognized the blue color of Flipendo, and the rusty orange color of the Impediment Jinx. Finally, after about a minute of this, someone who looked scarily like Harry's mother came out of Tom's wand.

At that moment, Harry broke the connection, confused, but also willing to use Tom's confusion to his advantage. The golden net disappeared, along with the colored sparks.

Continuing on with the duel, Harry shouted "Tarantallegra!" It would be funny to see Tom dance. Unfortunately, the other boy dodged it just in time for it to miss.

" _Silencio!_ " Tom said.

When Harry tried to cast a cutting hex, he found that he couldn't. It was quite clever, really, and Tom's move annoyed Harry to no end. After all, Harry had been the one to cast it on Tom in the first place, back on the train.

With no way to speak and thus no way to end the Silencing Charm, Harry was forced to surrender. A grimace passed over his face as he dropped his wand and and fell to his knees. Tom canceled the charm and smirked, picking up Harry's wand.

"The Stone is is, then," he taunted, one wand in either hand. Harry just frowned and narrowed his eyes, disappointed that he hadn't thought of the Silencing Charm first. He could've won the duel immediately.

"Alright, you win," Harry conceded. "But I need my wand back. And one more thing — let's never duel again."

Tom laughed. Surprisingly, he had a nice laugh when he was happy. It was warm and musical — completely the opposite of what Tom was, and completely different from his usual snicker.


	13. Christmas Day

Author's Note: My script of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ arrived today! I read it in about an hour — it was very interesting. I'm going to see the film with friends tomorrow. I'm definitely looking forward to it. I went to the midnight premieres of the last two Harry Potter films, and this movie is bringing back all of the magic again. It was much better than _The Cursed Child_ , in my opinion. :)

Oh, and there should be another chapter up this weekend.

* * *

On Christmas Eve, it seemed that the spirits of everyone in Hogwarts were rising. Laughter from the few remaining students could be heard in the hallways, and the wonderful scent of cinnamon and spices wafted through the corridors. Tom hadn't brought up the strange events of the duel again. Harry was poking at a strawberry crêpe on his breakfast plate. A fifth year Slytherin was studying across from them, as it was her first real examination year, with the O.W.L.s. Hedwig flew into the room, a copy of the Daily Prophet fixed in her beak. Harry had taken out a subscription, anxiously waiting for them to run the information that he and Tom had sent in.

"Harry Potter, a Parselmouth and Dark Wizard, Trained Personally by You-Know-Who?" the headline spelled out in bold, black letters. Harry continued reading the article, pausing in dismay when he realized that they had printed Tom's actual letter, with his actual handwriting.

"This isn't good," Harry said, and Tom nodded beside him.

"The teachers can recognize my handwriting, and they'll probably show it to Dumbledore."

"He can probably recognize it himself. He did have you as a student in the past, remember?"

"That doesn't matter. We're done for, or at least I am."

The tall, blue-eyed wizard stood up at that moment with impeccable timing. "Harry? Tom? May I see the both of you for a short minute?"

Grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling that attracting all of the teachers' stares gave him, Harry stood up and walked out of the Great Hall after Dumbledore.

"What is it, Professor?" he asked innocently.

"Stop pretending, Harry. I think you know very well why you're here, or did I not just see you reading today's edition of the Daily Prophet?"

"You must have been mistaken, sir. We were reading the Quibbler," Tom said in vain, trying to convince Dumbledore.

"Yes, of course. Regardless, it seems that you have sent in a letter to the Daily Prophet, Tom. Why, I cannot say. I was hoping that you could enlighten me on the subject."

Harry took in a deep breath. "They lied about me. They called Slytherin bad, and I had to make them look stupid by running an outrageous article about me." Sensing Dumbledore's disapproval, he added: "I wrote it, sir. Tom just copied it down so that no one would realized that I wrote it."

"Your plan seems to have backfired, Harry. It will simply make people wonder more about how much of a mystery your past is."

"I'm sorry, Professor."

"As you should be. On another note, Tom, you're a parselmouth. I'm sure that you know that, so why would you allow Harry to make up that letter?"

Harry's face scrunched in confusion, before he answered for Tom. The other was giving him a pleading expression that screamed "don't say anything!", but Harry didn't notice in time. "What do you mean, sir? I'm one too, and the best lies are based in truth, after all."

The headmaster paled a few shades, his straight face unfurling into a minor frown. "Your actions describe who you are better than your abilities," he said inexplicably, then gave Harry a deep scrutinizing look, scanning between him and Tom, before briskly turning around and returning to the Great Hall.

Harry turned to Tom and shrugged, met with an expression of equal confusion.

* * *

That evening, Harry readied Tom's Christmas present. He doubted that the other would get him anything, but he decided that that would be alright. He had just become accustomed to the idea of gift giving himself, especially after living at the Dursleys' house.

He'd ordered Tom a book from Knockturn Alley called _An Introduction to the Dark Arts_. Before purchasing it, he'd toyed with the idea, seeing as Tom's personality was more...ruthless than his. However, he'd decided that he would be there to balance him out and prevent him from becoming addicted to the Dark, as he'd read was possible.

Harry himself was interested in the darker facets of the magical world. Idly, he had wondered if he could still be a powerful wizard while practicing both Dark and Light magic. All of his history books mentioned wizards being one or the other. He resolved to ask Hagrid about it, because it wouldn't be seen as strange to be asking questions to the man who introduced him to the wizarding world.

The wrapping paper charm, _Circumligo_ , was frustrating. After several failed attempts, he'd managed to wrap a somewhat decent present. Discreetly tucking it under Tom's bed, he went to the lavatory to brush his teeth and change into his pajamas. This would be his best Christmas yet; he already knew.

* * *

The sound of unwrapping presents hit Harry's ears the moment he woke up. Quickly, he sat upright, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and opening his hangings.

"Hey!" he yelled. "You're supposed to wait for me, Tom."

"Sorry," Tom said blandly, obviously focused on his gift. Finally unwrapping it, he held it up to read the cover. " _Light Healing Spells and Potions_ ," the cover read.

"What?"

Harry smiled, amused at Tom's disappointment and confusion. " _Revelio_ ," he said. Immediately, the book's cover changed to say _An Introduction to the Dark Arts_ again. Tom didn't even try to hide his fascination in the book.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly, flinging open the cover and skimming the book. After a moment, he looked up again, dark eyes staring directly at Harry. "I didn't get you anything."

It went unspoken that the other didn't really have much money for giving gifts.

"That's alright. You'll know now."

Harry found three presents addressed to him in the common room, and Tom found two. There was one for each of them from Draco, which contained two wand holsters for robe sleeves. The gifts were thoughtful and quite useful, Harry decided. Attached to them were two invitation to the Malfoy family New Year celebration, and instructions on how to get there.

"Do you want to go?" Harry asked.

Tom nodded fervently. "It'll be good for networking purposes."

"What if someone there recognizes you?"

Tom shrugged. "I doubt they would believe their eyes anyway. They're all probably _old_ by now."

"What about your future self? How does that even work?"

"Maybe he's dead, or maybe I'm the only Tom Riddle Jr. there is. Why are you asking? You know that I don't know anything more about time travel than you do."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Just curiosity," he muttered, tucking the invitation into his pocket.

The next presents were from Hermione. They were sets of twelve chocolate frogs, along with more profound thank you notes. Tom handed his to Harry, explaining that he absurdly wasn't that fond of chocolate. That was completely insane, thought Harry.

Harry's last present was the most mysterious of all.

 _Harry,_

 _Your father left this in my possession before he died. Use it with responsibility, as I am putting my faith in your actions._

There was no address included with the note, but Harry had a hunch that Dumbledore had sent it. Harry unfolded the present, which seemed to be pile of smooth cloth. When he wrapped it around his shoulders, though, Tom exclaimed something about being invisible.

"You're invisible! That's brilliant — imagine all we could do with it."

"Like follow Professor Quirrell," Harry finished.

"Or steal the Philosopher's Stone," Tom added with a devilish smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I say we go find Quirrell first."

* * *

At two o'clock, Harry and Tom, draped under the Invisibility Cloak, headed to Quirrell's classroom and office. Nearing his office door, which was unlocked, they heard a furious scribbling noise. Thinking quickly, Harry pulled Tom around the corner and up the stairs, to the fifth floor boys' lavatory. He cast an exploding curse, _Confringo_ , on it, stepping back quickly in time for the exploding toilet seat to miss him.

Quirrell, just as Harry had planned, came running into the bathroom to see what the noise was. They slipped out the door as he was entering, with Tom casting a Silencing charm on their shoes to make then less noisy.

The office door was open, and they took the chance to enter. Quirrell's work was still on his desk, but when they neared, there was no writing on it. The pages were completely blank — all of them.

" _Revelio_ ," Harry tried. Nothing happened.

"No, Harry, for hidden writing it's _Aparecium_ ," Tom whispered, using his own wand to cast the charm. For a brief second, words could be made out on the page. Tom tried again, and this time they lasted longer. The word "plant" was just barely visible.

On the third time, Harry, leaning over the desk, saw "Philosopher's Stone," and realized that Quirrell _was_ the one after the Stone. A fourth time, revealing the words "chess" and "cerberus," proved his theory further, though he didn't know how chess related to the whole situation. A light padding on the floors of the castle was getting closer.

"Let's go," Tom said quietly, nudging Harry. "He's coming back."

They ran through the corridors, eager to get back to the dormitory and discuss what they had seen. Now, there was no doubt that Quirrell was after the Philosopher's Stone. They just had to steal it before he could, yet their individual plot to steal it over the winter holiday became lost amidst homework, tests, and essays.


	14. New Year's Eve

Author's Note: I saw _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_! It was amazing, and now I really want to write something to do with it. If you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend watching it. The plot and characters are all great.

Also, I think I'm going to start posting longer chapters, hopefully longer than 2,000 words. Thanks for the support, as always, and be sure to leave a review. They help me a lot with my writing.

* * *

At five o'clock, they took their place at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. The decorations were outstanding, as was the food. There was turkey, ham, treacle tart, pie, and even chocolate cake. Christmas crackers at the orphanage had contained cheap trinkets that broke within an hour of use, but wizarding crackers were magnificent. From just three, Harry had amassed a wizard's chess set, a top that spun forever, a small music box, and a pack of seeds to grow what were supposedly the five most useful magical plants.

The teachers' table was also an interesting sight to behold. Professor Dumbledore's cheeks were rosy, and, with his red robes, he looked like he could be a very thin Father Christmas. His half-moon glasses were slipping further and further down his nose. Professor McGonagall's hat was tipping precariously sideways, and she was laughing much more often than usually (which was _maybe_ once a day, from what Harry had seen). Hagrid's entire face was red, and Harry saw Tom grimace when Hagrid leaned over to give McGonagall a kiss. Obviously he wasn't fond of the thought of a relationship between the two, especially when she giggled afterwards.

The finale to the dinner was Christmas cake and puddings that were literally _on fire_. Tom refused to try them until Harry had, but finally gave in after a while. When they returned back to the dorm that evening, they were much too tired and full to think about what they had seen in Quirrell's office. For now, Harry was content with the knowledge that this had been his best Christmas yet.

* * *

The Malfoys' New Year celebration was on Tuesday evening. In reality, it began on New Year's Eve and lasted until midday on Wednesday. The note had included instructions on how to use something called Floo travel to go to the manor, and a dress code. They were supposed to wear dress robes, which they had hastily ordered from Madam Malkin's catalogue. They weren't tailored properly, but Harry had been working on a tailoring charm and was able to do an adequate job on them. Tom had been reluctant to let Harry buy his set of dress robes, as he didn't like owing favors to other people. He agreed, though, out of lack of a better option.

They'd have to get a teacher to help them, which was harder than it seemed. Snape didn't really like Harry (and now he knew why), Quirrell was now their enemy, Dumbledore would probably disapprove, as would Professor McGonagall and likely Professor Sprout. They didn't know any of the elective professors well enough to ask, so that left Professor Flitwick.

Harry handed him the note early in the morning on Tuesday, and explained their situation.

Flitwick gave them a scrutinizing look. "I wish you would have given me earlier notice, but I suppose that I can help you. Why didn't you ask Professor Snape?"

"He doesn't really seem to be fond of me, sir, and by extension, he doesn't really like Tom either."

"I see," Flitwick said while deep in thought. "Do you two have dress robes?"

"Yes," Tom answered.

"Then meet me in my office this evening, and I'll show you how to get there."

"Thank you, sir!" Harry's voice had a youthful quality to it. They returned to the dormitory to get ready for the party.

* * *

"Harry, you've got to at least brush your hair."

"I did already, Tom. And besides, it's neater than usual."

"That's not saying much. Hold on a second." Tom marched over to Draco's bed, using the unlocking spell to rummage around in his nightstand. He made a face upon seeing undergarments, but finally was able to pull out a container of pinkish gel. "Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment," he explained. "I knew Malfoy was bound to have some."

"And?" Harry questioned.

"You're going to use it." Under Tom's watchful gaze, Harry slathered his hair in the pinkish stuff, then forced his comb through it. By the end of the ordeal, his hair looked wavy and smooth like Tom's, and they were ready to go. They trudged upstairs to Flitwick's office; the dress robes were horrendous to move in.

"Hello there, Tom, Harry. I almost didn't recognize you, Harry — you dress up nicely."

"Thank you, sir."

"Ready? Now all you have to do is grab a pinch of this Floo powder here, then step into the fireplace and say your destination clearly. In this case, you would say 'Malfoy Manor.'"

Harry decided to go first. Hesitantly, he picked up some Floo powder and awkwardly clambered into the hearth. "Malfoy Manor!" he said, his voice a bit quavery.

The next thing he knew, he was tumbling out of a fireplace in a completely different location. He nearly groaned when he realized that he was in the middle of a grand parlor, and that other people had noticed his clumsy arrival. Quickly, he stood up and brushed the ashes off of his robes and cleaned off his glasses, annoyed at the stares that everyone in the room was giving him.

Tom came out of the fireplace a second later, but he had managed to land on his feet without stumbling. They stood there awkwardly until a tall blonde man, likely Draco's father, entered the room.

"I don't believe we've met, but Draco has told me much about you two. I'm Lucius Malfoy, his father."

"It's nice to meet you," Harry said, shaking the man's hand. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Of course," he said. "And you must be Tom Riddle." He paused on Tom's name, obviously less fond of the Muggle connotations it had.

"Yes." Tom also shook his hand. An equally blonde woman had sidled up next to Mr. Malfoy.

"This is my wife, and Draco's mother, Narcissa." At Lucius's introduction, she offered them small, reserved smiles and polite handshakes.

"We'll have to discuss more this evening, but for now I must act as a host. Draco and the other children are in the music room to the left. You'll likely hear them before you'll see them," he explained good-naturedly.

They nodded. He turned out to be right about the music room. A grand piano, set aside to the corner, was playing "Auld Lang Syne" without anyone to play it. Several couches and ornate seats were scattered about the room, and marble sets of wizard's chess and gobstones were surrounded by children.

"You made it!" Draco exclaimed, jumping up from where he was obviously bored on the couch. "Everyone, this is Tom Riddle and Harry Potter."

A few pairs of eyes widened upon hearing Harry's name, though a few of the others sneered upon hearing Tom's

"I can't believe you invited the mudbloods, Draco!" Pansy Parkinson whined.

"Have you seriously not learned your lesson?" Harry asked boredly, rolling his eyes.

Her eyes widened and she yelped upon remembering Tom's little act of magic during the feast. Recovering, she crossed her arms, but remained silent. Tom smirked.

Draco motioned for them to take a seat on an empty couch. "You already know Daphne from school, but her sister Astoria's going to be going to Hogwarts in a few years. This is Ajax Zabini, Blaise's older brother and a third-year." He motioned first to a young girl with strawberry blonde hair and then to a tall, olive-skinned boy who bore a striking resemblance to Blaise.

"Alexander Dolohov, he's a second year," Draco said. The boy in question had brown hair and a brooding expression. "He's not one for parties," Draco side-whispered to them. "I think that's everyone here. The upper year students are in a different room. Oh, and just ignore Pansy. She's just jealous, because she can't cast a spell to save her life."

"Hey!" she shouted, her scowl deepening even more.

Harry and Tom played a few games of wizard's chess. Harry was very new to the game, and had yet to win a game against Tom. Even Draco couldn't beat him, though their game did take a long time to finish.

Eventually, Draco pulled them outside the room for a tour and to go introduce them to people. Harry felt like a show pony.

"Out there are the stables. We don't really have much right now, but a long time ago, there used to be hippogriffs and unicorns." Draco was pointing out the window. "Those are our peacocks. They're albino."

"I can see the resemblance," Tom said, snickering. Draco's brows furrowed and Harry smacked Tom on the shoulder.

Draco led them into the sitting room where Harry had made his less than graceful entrance. "This is my grandmother, Isadora Malfoy."

"Hello," Harry said awkwardly. "It's a pleasure to meet you." The woman had milky blue eyes and white hair, and looked very strict.

"Riddle, huh? I wasn't aware that he'd had children."

"Oh, erm, I'm not Riddle. I'm Harry Potter. He's Tom Riddle."

"Did you know my father, ma'am?" Tom asked curiously. Harry shot him a look. Tom knew what he was doing — meddling with time — but it wasn't good.

"Not really, but Abraxas did. Said he was the brightest student Hogwarts had seen. I always wondered where he disappeared to. Would you happen to know?"

"Sorry, ma'am. I grew up in an orphanage. I was told that he'd died."

"That's a right shame, then." Tom nodded politely.

Next, they met several of their classmates' parents. Franklin Nott had twitched when he'd heard Tom's last name, but the conversation was still civil. Harry wondered why all of these purebloods hated the idea of Muggleborns so much, when they were wasting their energy. Shouldn't they dislike Muggles instead, for how they treated wizards?

Draco didn't even bother introducing they to Pansy's father, William Parkinson, who was apparently even more of a bigot than his daughter. Finally, they had circled back to Draco's father, who wanted to speak to them in private.

His office was large and luxurious. It was decorated in rich black cherry wood, and intricate plant designs and snakes were carved into the woodwork. He cast some silencing charms.

"I know that you two are parselmouths—"

"—I'm sorry for interrupting, sir, but please don't tell anyone," Harry pleaded.

Mr. Malfoy tried to smile. It was rather cold, though. "Relax, Mr. Potter. You have my word. What I want to know is how. How is it possible for there to be two parselmouths in the same generation of wizards, when the Dark Lord was the last one known?"

"That's exactly the thing, sir. He was the last one known, but it's likely that there were more whose powers were kept a secret." Tom's gaze was attentive.

"There were no known parselmouths in the Potter family."

"Well, I seem to be an exception to everything, don't I, Mr. Malfoy?" Harry questioned.

"Hmm. I suppose so, Harry, if I may call you such. And Mr. Riddle, you are the child of Tom Riddle, born in 1926?"

Tom seemed surprised at what Lucius Malfoy knew of him. "Yes."

"Who is your mother?"

"I-I don't know, sir. Harry and I both grew up in an orphanage."

"An orphanage?" Malfoy Sr.'s eyes were wide. "Ministry records show that you were placed in the care of Muggle relatives, Harry."

"I was, but they...erm...weren't the nicest. After I hurt their son with accidental magic, when I was five, they sent me off to the orphanage."

"How barbaric."

"Erm, yes, I suppose."

"I'll be investigating this further, but for now, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope that I haven't overwhelmed you two."

"Not at all, sir," Tom said with a charming smile.

They returned to the parlor, where everyone had gathered to count down until the new year. Draco gave them a questioning look, though he didn't say anything about their meeting with his father. Harry felt his eyelids getting heavier. People finally began to leave the party at five in the morning, so he and Tom were able to leave at six without offending anyone. Overall, it was a strange experience, with Lucius Malfoy and everything else considered. Harry told himself that he'd have to get used to it, though, because events like this one were more important in the wizarding world. It wasn't until later that night that he realized that December 31 was Tom's birthday, but it was forgotten after a night of deep sleep, especially because Tom didn't mention it further.

* * *

The rest of the winter holiday went by quickly. Harry had procrastinated and put off his homework until the very last day before class, which Tom laughed at, seeing as he had finished his the day it was assigned. Harry's retort to that was that the information would still be fresh in his mind for classes the next day.

Slowly, they were preparing to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Tom had figured out that Fluffy could be put to sleep from music, so they'd both learned how to cast a charm that would cause the music box to play endlessly, until the counter-charm was used.

Beyond that, they weren't sure what other protections there were. They had been practicing Defense Against the Dark Arts in an abandoned classroom in the dungeons, locking the door and putting silencing spells on so they wouldn't arouse suspicion. Their plan was to learn all of the spells that they could before trying to steal the Stone.

Not much happened aside from that. Their final examinations loomed on the horizon, and Harry found that Draco was pleasant to talk to when he wasn't trying to brag or undermine others. The common room was always full of furiously-studying students, and life went on as usual.


	15. Revelations

Finally, it was May. Harry had studied quite a bit for his final exams, but not as much as Tom. It was annoying, really, because Tom didn't even need to study to get good scores. He just wanted to maintain his position at the top of the class.

Harry studied most for his History of Magic and Potions exams. He had to focus more when he was actually making the potions, but it took a deeper understanding of theory to be truly good at the subject. Snape's dislike of him really didn't help, either. History of Magic, on the other hand, had absolutely no practical portion. It was all facts, which meant that it was an absolute chore, especially because Binns was perhaps the worst teacher at Hogwarts — aside from Quirrell, of course. Speaking of Defense Against the Dark Arts, both Harry and Tom had mastered their first year curriculum and were well on their way into the next year's textbook. Practicing outside of class had helped considerably.

The first exam of the week was Potions, though they rotated each year. Harry accidentally forgot that he was supposed to add a pinch of powdered hennyflax to his Anti-Amnesia Brew, but the mistake was trivial, and he was sure that he'd at least gotten an E.E. overall.

Astronomy was annoying, because it was necessary to wake up in the middle of the night to complete the exam. He finished his star chart in record time, though, and was able to return to the dormitory within the hour. Transfiguration went smoothly the next day, and Harry was quite impressed at his attempt at a decorated matchbox. His was decked in glittering gold and silver, and featured a subtle Hogwarts crest on the front. Tom just _had_ to upstage him, though, equipping his box with a fully-functional lock and small, paper-thin glass paneling, not to mention an emerald green Slytherin crest.

The rest of examination week passed by quickly. When the whole ordeal was done, Harry was barely even able to remember that Quirrell was notably evil, or that he was missing during breakfast.

"Harry, it's time. We have to go!" Tom shook Harry awake from where he had fallen asleep at the table.

"Wh-what?" he asked blearily, eyelids heavy.

"The Stone! Quirrell's gone!" Tom dragged Harry out of the Great Hall, making up some excuse about being tired.

" _Aguamenti!_ " A cold jet of water hit Harry's face, instantly rendering him alert.

"Hey!"

"Just follow me," Tom said grumpily, keeping his wand outstretched. He draped the Invisibility Cloak over them, having borrowed it from Harry's trunk earlier.

They made it to the third floor corridor, and the door was already unlocked. Harry pushed his way in, realizing that he wouldn't have to use the music charm they had learned. A harp in the corner was already playing itself, and Fluffy was asleep. They crept silently through the trapdoor, only to fall on a large, vine-y plant.

It quickly began to grasp and tighten around Harry's ankles and left wrist. He held his wand above, mind whirring as he tried to figure out what it could be.

"Devil's Snare!" he finally shouted at the same time as Tom.

"Erm…fire, right? It doesn't like light or fire." As Harry was struggling, the plant's grasp was only getting tighter.

" _Incendio!_ " A jet of bluish flames leapt out of Tom's wand. The plant immediately wilted away, allowing them to break free of its grasp and to continue on through the passageway.

A bright jingling and rustling sound was coming out of a large chamber room. At first, Harry thought he was staring at a gigantic flock of birds, but he realized after a second that that wasn't the case. There were numerous keys, all flying in random paths. At the end of the chamber was a door, complete with an obvious keyhole.

"We must have to find the key," Harry remarked. "But how? There are so many."

"There are brooms over there, but you're going to have to do it. I don't like flying that much."

"Fine." Harry carefully walked over to a broom, not willing to ignore the risk of the flying keys converging on him. The broom was old and tattered, even worse than the one he'd had to fly on for Quidditch tryouts. He mounted it and took off, pausing to swat away the keys that were dangerously close to his face.

Amid the utter chaos of the keys, Harry noticed that one of them was not like the others. One of its wings was crumpled, and its flying was erratic. Quickly, he grabbed it from the air, his experience at Quidditch helping him. He gracefully landed back on the ground, pleased to see that the key was a perfect fit.

Tom cautiously pushed open the door, eyes narrowed at something that was in the room. Harry pushed past him to see a giant chessboard, complete with pieces much taller than Harry.

A smirk passed over Tom's face. "Back at the orphanage — the 1930s orphanage, I mean — I used to play chess with myself all the time. It was quite entertaining, and I did become rather good at it," he explained, sensing Harry's confusion.

Harry snorted. "With yourself? That's a bit sad."

Tom scowled, then stuck his nose up in the air. "It was only because no one there had an ounce of intelligence."

"Chickens don't praise their own soup," Harry quoted in a singsong voice, eliciting an annoyed snarl from Tom. Ignoring it, and returning his attention to the chessboard, he said, "We just need to make it across." He made his way to the board, but before he could take a step, one of the pieces turned to him and blocked his path.

"Aah!" He jumped back in surprise, for the piece had blocked his path with a spear.

"We have to play," Tom decided. "Let's take black. Pawn to E5." The intended stone pawn didn't move at all. Tom walked up to it and tapped its shoulder in annoyance.

Harry thought for a moment. "Tom! I think we have to take the places of two of the pieces."

"I'll be the queen. Take your pick." Said queen moved off of the board and left a space for Tom to take.

"Knight," Harry concluded, stepping onto the square.

Tom continued to play, and it seemed that they were winning. Occasionally, he would instruct Harry to move. A considerable number of their pawns had been captured, along with one of their rooks, though they had captured more pieces than that from the white-colored forces.

"Checkmate," Tom finished happily. The few remaining pieces bowed and shifted, with the white king taking off his crown, and left the path to yet another door open. A horrible smell immediately hit them.

In the middle of the room was an unconscious mountain troll. It had a purplish bump on its forehead and was slumped over, drooling. Pinching their noses, they continued on. The next room held seven potions bottles perched on a stand, along with a black fire ahead. Behind them, a plume of purple flames filled the doorway. Harry picked up the piece of paper lying next to the potions.

 _Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

 _Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,_

 _One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

 _Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

 _Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

 _Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line._

 _Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

 _To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

 _First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

 _You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

 _Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

 _But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;_

 _Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

 _Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

 _Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

 _Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

"It's a riddle," Harry said softly, deep in thought. Normally, Tom would've had some scathing response about how he was pointing out the obvious, but even he had turned silent, a calculating gleam in his dark eyes.

"Two are wine," Tom said. "Two will help — one to go forward, and one to go back"

"Three are poison," Harry added.

"And only one of us can move forward."

"Potions can't be replicated, as they're magical substances," Harry pondered. "but...what if one of us is invisible? With the Cloak, couldn't you technically 'hide' from the magic of the passageway?"

"Don't be daft, Harry. Even if that was a possibility, the risk of ruining the Cloak is too high."

"It'd be worth it. To stop Quirrell—"

"—and to steal the Philosopher's Stone," Tom interrupted, a maniacal quality to his eyes.

"That too," Harry said grumpily.

They made quick work of the logic puzzle, and Tom had tucked the potion to return neatly into his robe pocket. Harry would be the one under the Cloak, for Tom hadn't been willing to take the chance of an accident for himself. Tom downed the potion in one swallow.

"It's not poison, is it?" Harry asked warily.

"No, it's just cold. Hurry! We have to go before the potion wears off."

They stepped into the black flames of the archway. Harry braced himself for third-degree burns, yet...nothing happened. The obsidian flames licked at the Cloak, but they apparently couldn't penetrate it. Harry hopped forward, though, when the soles of his shoes, unprotected by the Invisibility Cloak, began to melt.

* * *

It _was_ Quirrell in the next room. They'd been right. However, something about the professor seemed...off. Quirrell didn't have his nervous twitch anymore, and his posture was much more confident. He turned to them with an alarming grin on his face.

"So, _Tom Marvolo Riddle_. I've heard much about you, of course." The wizard drawled out Tom's name. Harry realized that he was still under the Cloak, and, therefore, Quirrell couldn't see him.

"Why, Professor, what's happened to your stutter?" Tom asked in a sickly sweet, mocking voice.

"Who would ever suspect p-p-pitiful, p-pathetic P-Professor Quirrell, who can't even form a sentence without tripping over himself?"

"You're after the Stone," Tom said matter-of-factly. "You first let a troll into the school as a distraction from your plan, and when that didn't work, you had to wait."

"Well done, Tom!" Quirrell looked around, a gleeful, if not crazed, expression on his face. "Where's Harry gone off to now?"

"I didn't tell him about this," Tom lied smoothly. "In fact, I made my own secret plans to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Surely you understand, given our...predicament."

Quirrell regarded him coolly. "Was it a Time Turner?"

"Excuse me?"

"I know your origins, Tom. I know more about you than you yourself know, or at least my master does." Professor Quirrell smirked and Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Your birthday is December 31, 1926. Your mother died in the orphanage shortly after naming you after your father and maternal grandfather." The professor paused and listened for a moment. "What's that, my lord?" Quirrell's eyebrows rose. "When you were ten, you used magic to hang Billy Stubbs's r—"

Tom's face looked stark white in contrast to his jet black hair. "How?" he croaked. "How can you possibly know these things?"

Quirrell's smile deepened. A cold, grating, and high-pitched voice began to speak, causing goosebumps to break out on Harry's arms. "I am ready," it rasped.

Quirrell's hands slowly traveled to his purple turban. He unraveled it, and a set of bloodshot, reddish eyes, a paper thin mouth, and a snake-like nose became visible on the back of the professor's head. The pain in Harry's scar had been horrible all evening, but now it had morphed into a blinding headache.

Harry unsuccessfully tried to hold in his gasp of revulsion. Inexplicably, he knew who this was: Voldemort, or at least what was left of him. The disturbing eyes focused on him.

"There is another here!" shouted the chilling voice. "Seize him!"

Professor Quirrell lunged in Harry's direction, the material of the Invisibility Cloak slipping through his fingers. He managed to grab it, pulling it off of Harry in one grand sweeping motion.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said, his high-pitched voice dripping with hatred. Quirrell snapped his fingers, causing ropes to appear out of thin air.

Thinking fast, Harry pulled out his wand. " _Repercutio_!" The ropes changed direction from Harry's Rebounding Curse. With a wave of Quirrell's hand, he had already dissipated them, and his wand had made its way into the man's grip.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Tom shouted. Caught unawares, Quirrell's grip on his wand slackened and it flew towards Tom, who deftly caught it. With no magical weapon, Quirrell (or Voldemort, Harry wasn't sure) clenched his hands into fists and ran straight at Harry.

Instinctually, Harry thrust his hands forward to protect himself. Rather than experiencing the pain he thought he would, it was instead Quirrell who began to scream. They tussled on the floor. "Forget the boy! Go to the mirror!" Voldemort kept shouting.

Harry wondered how he could've missed the ancient-looking mirror sitting in the middle of the room. Around its metallic border, an inscription was etched. Harry could only make out the word "Erised" from so far away, as his glasses had been badly broken in the struggle.

Whimpering in pain, Quirrell stiffly moved to push Harry towards the mirror. Harry peered into it. In doing so, he realized that the _whole entire thing_ had been a trap. There was no way that Quirrell would ever be able to get the Philosopher's Stone. "Erised" meant desire. Squinting to read the rest of the description, he figured out that the mirror's inscription was backwards, and said "I show not your face but your heart's desire." He felt like laughing bitterly at the whole situation.

Tom might've been able to get the Stone, with Harry's aid, for the latter had no real use for the Stone. After all, he didn't want immortality and had enough gold to last a lifetime. But Quirrell, whose every action was motivated by personal greed and selfishness? There was no way.

His reflection smiled at him, slipping an amber-colored rock into his robe pocket. Harry discreetly checked the very same pocket. Sure enough, the Philosopher's Stone was there, and it was his. Tom, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

"What do you see?" rasped Voldemort's voice, breaking Harry from his thoughts.

"It's great! I'm living in the wizarding world, free of Muggles — the Head Auror. I'm on the cover of practically every newspaper and magazine, and I even have my own Chocolate Frog card. Tom's the Minister of Magic, too...we're the best wizards in all of Britain!"

"He lies!" Voldemort hissed.

" _Stupefy!_ " The prone form of Quirrell had no way to avoid Tom's spell.

Quirrell did something to slow the spell, but he was too badly injured to move out of its path. Just before the red jet of light hit the professor, Voldemort looked up at Tom. "I am Lord Voldemort, _and so are you,_ " he rasped.

Tom emerged from the shadows, nose scrunched in disgust and anger. A sickening knock was heard as Quirrell's head fell to the ground.

Harry rushed over to his professor. With a look of sheer determination, he touched his two hands to both of the man's faces. Together, he and Tom watched with morbid fascination as the skin bubbled and the man seemed to wither away before their very eyes.

Before the world went dark, Harry finally realized exactly who his friend was.


	16. Departure from Hogwarts

When Harry woke up, everything was bright and blurry. After a full minute of being disoriented, he realized that he was in the Hospital Wing without his glasses on. Sitting up, a wave of dizziness passed over him and he winced.

"Mr. Potter! It seems that you're awake." Fumbling for his glasses, Harry noticed that Dumbledore had stood up and was leaning over your bed.

"Where's Tom?"

"Mr. Riddle is in the common room. He recovered significantly earlier than you did." Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth, blue eyes twinkling.

"How long have I been unconscious, sir?"

"Approximately three days, Mr. Potter."

"Professor, what exactly happened in that corridor?" Harry asked, his demeanor innocent-seeming.

"I was hoping that you would be able to enlighten me on that topic. Other than that, the Stone has been destroyed, and Quirrell, or rather Voldemort, I should say, is dead."

Well, Tom surely wouldn't be happy about that. Internally, though, Harry was glad, because power of limitless wealth and immortality wouldn't do good things for the other boy's ego. "But he's not really dead, sir."

"So you've figured it out, then, Harry?" Dumbledore leaned forward gently, obviously eager to hear Harry's reply.

"I have."

"And your thoughts?"

"I-I don't really know what to think. Tom _is not_ Voldemort yet. Our — well, his — moral compass might be a bit skewed, but he's not like _that_."

"Please do elaborate, Harry."

"When I met Tom, I was alone in the orphanage. Similarly to him, from what he's told me, I was called a freak, a devil's child, and a weirdo. I guess...I've never really had a friend before I had Tom. He's just as much my friend as I'm his, even if he doesn't want to admit it, and whatever happened to turn him into that _monster_ , I'm not going to let it happen again."

Dumbledore smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "A noble goal. However, I do have to ask, why were you in the corridor to begin with?"

"Quirrell was going to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and we thought we had to stop him somehow, which actually ended up being useless."

The old man popped a Chocolate Frog into his mouth, savoring the taste before answering. "Oh, so you did do the thing right, then! You know about the Mirror of Erised, and Nicholas Flamel, I assume."

Harry nodded. "'I show not your face but your heart's desire,'" Harry recited obediently. "Will Flamel die, with the Stone destroyed?"

"As for the Mirror, it was one of my more ingenious ideas, I have to admit. But yes, the Flamels had enough Elixir of Life to organize their affairs, and then they will die."

"Oh," Harry said awkwardly. "I just can't believe we nearly died for nothing at all, sir."

"Not for nothing, my boy! Voldemort, though he himself might have escaped, he was left in a horribly weak state after your encounter. I daresay that you and Tom, despite your placements in Slytherin House, demonstrated great courage."

Harry nearly laughed out loud at the thought of Tom showing bravery. Nevertheless, he nodded at the headmaster, absentmindedly sifting through the candy left by Hermione and other students whose names he didn't even know.

"So, the vapor that I saw leaving Professor Quirrell's body was Voldemort?" Harry asked, and Dumbledore nodded. "How is that possible?"

Dumbledore's face took on a faraway expression. "I believe that Tom Riddle, in his original timeline, went through rituals that would ensure his immortality, and thus prevent him from truly dying."

"What rituals are you talking about, Professor?"

"I am still conducting research to determine that very information. You needn't worry yourself at the moment, though, Harry." Dumbledore brushed chocolate remains off of his violet robes. "I'll leave you alone, for now. I do believe you have some eager visitors outside the Hospital Wing."

Harry fell backwards into his cot, thinking over the conversation with the headmaster. Should he stop being friends with Tom? From what he knew, it seemed that Tom had become more volatile as he had gotten older, and that the rituals he'd done had made him unhinged enough to become a true Dark Lord. But would that happen again in this timeline? It frustrated him that he didn't know the answers to anything.

Before he could come to any consensus, several pairs of footsteps entered the room.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Hermione tentatively asked.

"Much better," he said with a small smile.

Draco's gray eyes were bright. "Is it true that Quirrell was possessed by the Dark Lord and that you defeated him _again_? That's what everyone's saying, at least."

"Unfortunately, it's true, yes. But I didn't do it alone. Tom helped."

Upon hearing his name, the boy in question stepped out from behind the others. "Harry," Tom said curtly with a short nod. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I guess we do. Draco, Hermione, it was really great of you to come visit me. Do you think we could have a bit of privacy for a moment? I'm sorry for asking so soon." Hermione politely nodded and left the room, whereas Draco looked like he wanted to stay and say something, but eventually left.

Tom pulled his wand out of his pocket and cast the Imperturbable Charm, preventing anyone from overhearing them.

"I'm assuming you've figured it out," Harry began.

"Yes."

"And?"

"I don't ever want to become so weak and dependent on another human. That Voldemort — er, my other self — was sickening."

"So you're not going to perform a ritual that sacrifices your coherence and appearance for immortality," Harry concluded.

Seeming a bit annoyed about it, Tom shook his head to say no. "My name is an anagram," he said. "Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort."

Harry worked out the anagram in his head, then nodded in agreement. "Did you hear about the Philosopher's Stone?"

"How it's destroyed? Yeah, Dumbledore looked a bit too happy when he told me about that. I think he knew that I wanted to steal it."

"He talked to you?" Harry asked, more alert than previously.

"He just explained what happened, and said something or other about how I have the potential to change my fate. Nonsense, really." Tom inspected Harry's gifts carefully.

"Of course. We're all right, now, as friends?"

"Friends?" Tom repeated incredulously.

"Yes, you know, they help each other, have fun to—" Harry began mockingly.

"—I know what friends are, you idiot. You're not upset with me for being a murdering, psychopathic Dark Lord?"

"You're not him yet, are you? And believe me, I have every intention of keeping you from becoming him, so you'd better not, or I'll have to step in."

"Fine, then." Tom was trying to hide the small grin he was sporting. Who would've known that young Lord Voldemort had the smallest ounce of warmth in him? Harry wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't seeing it right then.

* * *

When Harry and Tom entered the Great Hall that evening, they were met with excited stares, and possibly one or two suspicious glares from the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables. Tom was soaking up the attention, but Harry positively hated it for making a flush break out across his cheeks.

Red and gold banners dominated the Great Hall, for Gryffindor had won the House Cup. Slytherin had been in the lead for the later half of the school year, but Terrence Higgs and Gemma Farley had been discovered together and had been docked one-hundred points altogether, especially because Gemma was supposed to be a prefect and a good example for the school. Their win was going to be formally announced after the end-of-term feast.

Dumbledore stepped up to the podium. "It is time, I believe, for the House Cup to be awarded. Right now, the points stand as so: Hufflepuff in fourth place with three-hundred and fifty-two points, Slytherin in third place with three-hundred and eighty-two, Ravenclaw in second place with four-hundred and twenty-six, and Gryffindor in first place with four-hundred and seventy-two points."

The Gryffindor table was cheering loudly. Ron had even stood up in joy and was banging a fork against his goblet. Professor Dumbledore continued. "Before I do so, however, I have some very last-minute points to award."

The entire hall went silent again, leaning in to listen carefully to the headmaster. Students who weren't paying attention turned to the front in surprise and anticipation. "To Mr. Tom Riddle, for using skill and logic in a way that went against everything expected of him, I award fifty points to Slytherin."

Most of the table cheered and applauded, but Harry noticed that Pansy Parkinson was doing so with a sour look on her face. Harry snickered at that.

Dumbledore raised his hands up to quiet the cacophony. "Finally, to Mr. Harry Potter, for demonstrating his bravery, loyalty, intelligence, and cunning quite honorably, I award Slytherin House another fifty points."

One-hundred points total. That put Slytherin's total amount of points up to four-hundred and eighty-two — just ahead of Gryffindor. Immediately, the Slytherin students brightened and cheered, while the other three houses slumped dejectedly. Aside from Hermione, that was, for she was smiling brightly at them from across the Great Hall. The banners immediately transformed from red and gold with lions to green and silver with snakes.

Professor Snape shot McGonagall a smirk, for his winning streak would be prolonged. She pouted in return, her arms crossed. The interaction was an interesting one to watch.

"I present to the 1991-1992 House Cup to Slytherin!"

The other houses booed, but Harry couldn't be bothered to care. They'd done it, and they'd won, and now practically their whole house was cheering for them. It was the happiest moment of his life so far — other than his first glimpse of Hogwarts, of course.

* * *

Harry was devastated to be leaving Hogwarts for the bleak place that was Wool's Orphanage, but Tom was positively depressed. He packed his trunk with a sort of jerky anger to his movements, though it was still neat. The past few days had been horrible, because Tom had snapped at anyone who even tried to talk to him. Harry had to grab his friend's wand before he hexed Draco for saying goodbye to them at King's Cross Station too loudly.

With Hedwig atop Harry's trolley and Mari the serpent wrapped around Tom's arm, hidden, of course, they walked glumly back to the orphanage. On the train, they'd discussed potential outings for the summer, and Little Hangleton was at the top for places they wanted to go. Tom was interested to find out about the history of his family.

Mrs. Cole wasn't glad to have them back, especially because there were now _even more_ orphans living there, and she'd have to move their belongings back in. No one else wanted to sleep in the same room as them, so they still had the least crowded room of them all. Apparently, the orphanage was going to be renamed Wool's Home for Children, which Harry thought was stupid, because they were just trying to sugarcoat the fact that the children inside were orphans.

The only good part about going back happened when Miss Emily announced an excursion to Greater Hangleton, which was the town that accompanied the village of Little Hangleton. Greater Hangleton was located on the coast, and the orphanage owner had decided to pay for a rare trip for the children. Both Harry and Tom had concluded that it would be the perfect opportunity to sneak away to Little Hangleton.

They spent most of their days stuck in a boring routine. By now, seeing as it was one of the only books available, Harry had read _Hogwarts: A History_ over four times, and could recite the Sorting Hat's first song by memory. He desperately wanted to just go peek inside the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, but that was impossible when the sharp gaze of Mrs. Cole was always on them.

The trip was set to take place on July 28, just days before Harry's birthday, and he could hardly wait for the break in the monotony of Muggle life.


	17. Little Hangleton

On the morning of July 28, all of the children boarded a train that would take them directly to Greater Hangleton. In a compartment of their own, Harry and Tom discussed how they were going to travel to Little Hangleton.

"We could walk," Harry suggested.

"That would take hours, Harry. We don't have time for that." Tom sighed in exasperation.

"I would just fly my Nimbus there if Muggles wouldn't be able to see it." Harry rested his head on his backpack, stuffed with a few of his belongings. "Have you ever hitchhiked before?"

"Like a common Muggle, or worse, a poor Muggle?! No, and I _do not_ intend to."

"Too bad. We've got no choice. I seriously doubt that there's a fireplace connected to the Floo network there." Harry smiled at Tom as he watched the other boy figure out the same thing — hitchhiking was their only option.

"I hate you, Harry."

"I know."

The train screeched to a halt inside a nearly empty station. Papers littered the ground, and the inside was dimly lit. However, when the reached the outside of the station, the smell of the ocean was apparent in the air, and the waves were crashing loudly. Immediately, the children began running towards the beach, which was also empty, as it was a rather chilly day for July. After Mrs. Cole and her assistants had quickly counted the children, Harry and Tom snuck off in search of a main road.

They eventually found one, winding and curvy with worn-out paint. Harry felt like his thumb was going to fall off for waiting with it extended out, and Tom felt stupid doing it, and so had stopped after the first fifteen minutes. An hour later, a rusted and rickety-looking Ford Fiesta came puttering down the street. Both Harry and Tom grimaced, but were desperate enough not to pass up the opportunity for a ride.

"There's no way I'm getting in that," Tom whispered to Harry angrily. "It looks like it's older than the both of us combined."

"Fine, then. I guess we're not going to Little Hangleton after all," Harry said with a smirk on his face, knowing that Tom would react. "And how would you even know how old it is? You were born in 1926."

Glaring at Harry darkly, Tom made to the door of the car and pulled it open harshly. The door made a horrible creaking noise, giving Harry the urge to cover his ears. Pulling himself together, he followed Tom into the disgustingly ruined backseat of the car.

Glancing at the man sitting in the driver's seat through the rear-view mirror, Harry noticed that he had yellowed teeth and a severely unkempt appearance. He was beginning to regret his decision to get in, and was cursing his bravery, not for the first time, either. Tom seemed to be cursing Harry's persistence as well.

"So where're two li'l boys like yourselves tryin' to go?" The man's voice was slimy-sounding, and carried a thick Cockney accent.

"Little Hangleton, sir," Harry replied, squirming slightly.

"As a ma'er of fact, I was headin' there myself."

"Great, then," came Harry's curt response. Tom was refusing to talk, instead staring out the window with apparent disgust and shock.

An unknown amount of time later, the small village of Little Hangleton entered their sight. Not many people were around, and the houses were all decaying where they stood, though there was a tall manor house and a graveyard visible across the village, on a separate hill. The man drove his car, if it could even be called such, to a dark, wooden building. It appeared to be a pub at some point, but had been since abandoned. The sign read "The Hanged Man." What a pleasant name for a pub, Harry thought sarcastically.

"We'll just be getting out now, thanks," said Tom hesitantly, his hand nearly on the door handle. Suddenly, the door lock snapped down, and the man turned around, grinning creepily.

"I don't think so."

"Where exactly did you take us?" Harry asked warily.

"To Little Hangleton, jus' like you asked." The man tried to grab Harry's wrist, who was luckily able to pull it away in time thanks to his good reflexes from Quidditch. "Calm down, there." He smiled again. "You didn't tell me where, so I took you to one o' mine favorite places. Couldn't pass up the chance at two pretty li'l boys like yourselves, and the bi' o' cash I'll get when I show them wha' I found."

Tom was looking angrier and angrier by the second, and Harry knew that it was entirely possible for him to have an outburst of accidental magic. Despite Tom's control over his magic, he didn't have a large amount of control over his emotions yet. The windows of the car shattered outwards, providing them with a way to escape. The man, needless to say, was shocked into silence.

While he was sputtering something about demon children, Harry and Tom practically threw themselves out of the window, landing roughly on the pavement outside the tavern. With one last roar of the engine, the car zoomed off into the distance.

"I wanted him to die," Tom said darkly. "He deserves to—"

"—but you also don't want to get expelled from Hogwarts," Harry pointed out helpfully.

"This is all _your_ fault," Tom hissed. "The only people who would ever pick up two boys, all alone, without asking them where their parents are, are likely creeps, perverts, and weirdos."

"On second thought, you're probably right—" Harry began.

"—Probably? Of course I'm right. I'd better not get expelled because of your horrible idea."

"It was accidental magic, correct? Can the Ministry even detect that? And besides, it would be brushed off as self-defense anyway. It's not like the idiotic Muggle was hurt."

"He should have been. I hate Muggles! I hate them!" Tom's face was scrunched in rage. Calming himself, he resignedly said, "Let's just find the Riddles' old house and _go_."

"Fine, Tom! I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean for this to happen, but I didn't think anything like this would happen, honestly."

Tom didn't respond, beginning to walk through the town towards the large manor house atop a hill. Harry followed silently behind, realizing that Tom was stubbornly going to give him the silent treatment. Just outside the village, where few buildings remained, they came to a shack with a nearly caved-in roof. Its exterior was nearly hidden by tall, overgrown weeds, and its windows were cracked.

Upon closer inspection, Harry saw a nail wedged into the door, and a pile of strange, round bones at the base of the door. They looked almost like vertebrae, the remnants of a spine. A terrible odor wafted from the inside of the hovel, smelling like a mixture of rotten eggs, rubbish, and mold. Despite that, it was almost as if something was compelling him to step inside. Tom was ahead of him, obviously sensing the same thing.

Stopping abruptly, Tom signaled for Harry to stop. Harry watched in interest as Tom knelt down onto the creaky floorboards, then carefully reached underneath one and pried it up. Harry heard high-pitched hissing noise from underneath the floorboard. With slightly shaky hands, Tom slowly picked up a golden-colored box and placed it down at his knees.

Tom opened it, and, nestled between two layers of silk, sat a simple ring. It was golden, although the gold had presumably aged and dulled since the ring's prime. There was a symbol on the ring, along with a jet black, diamond-cut stone set in the ring's center.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Tom acted like he hadn't even heard Harry's question. He picked up the ring and gingerly slid it onto his finger, and it appeared to fit perfectly. Harry, who had quickly grown impatient, strode over to Tom and tried to touch the ring.

"No!" Tom shouted, jerking his hand and the ring out of Harry's reach.

"What? Why can't you just let me touch it? I want to!" Harry found himself saying, unsure of why he wanted to touch it so badly.

"It's Voldemort's, that's why. I think he cursed it so that only he could touch it."

"So what? I want to touch it." Harry stretched out his fingers again, inexplicably drawn to the magic emanating from the ring.

Tom snatched the ring away protectively. "You'll get cursed if you touch it. It's Voldemort we're talking about here. He's not just another one of your classmates using a Hair-Loss Cure. It could kill you."

At those words, Harry snapped out of his stupor and the misty look exited his eyes. "Kill me?"

"Yes, Harry. Dangerous. Deadly. Lethal."

"Oh." Deciding that something was interfering with his thoughts, Harry made his way to the outside of the shack, glad to be rid of the musty odor. He took a deep breath, relieved that his thoughts were coherent again. A few moments later, Tom emerged as well.

"What was that place?" Harry asked upon seeing him.

"I'm not completely sure, but it was important to Voldemort...or, erm, me...in some way."

"Why did the ring hiss?"

"It's Parseltongue, but you have to get close to understand it. I think Voldemort tampered with it somehow. I'll have to investigate it." Tom felt his new ring instinctively, then began to walk further up the path. "Let's go to that big manor house. I have a good feeling about it."

"You just think that your family _had_ to be rich, because in your mind, they couldn't possibly be poor to have given birth to the great Tom Riddle," Harry said snarkily, still a bit annoyed and confused by the way that his whole day had been going.

" _No_ , actually, I have good instincts, and they're telling me to go to that manor house."

It took ten minutes to reach the manor, and they were surprised to find that the gardens were well tended to. The same couldn't be said for the house. A thick layer of ivy covered the whole exterior, and the cross hatched windows were cloudy.

Behind the back of the house, on the other side of the hill, there was a small graveyard and what looked to have been a church in the past. It had collapsed into a heap of bricks and rotting wood. In the front of the house, there was a small cabin, in even better shape than the gardens.

Before they could reach the front of the actual house, they were made aware of the presence of another person. He was hunched over, likely pulling weeds out of the flower beds of the house, and he appeared to be quite old. Harry grabbed Tom's upper arm and prepared to run away, but it was too late. The man turned around, his face first angry, and then shocked.

"Riddle?"

Tom stepped forward eagerly. "Did you know him? My father?"

The man's eyes widened, and his jaw clenched. "Wha-what? You-you're that kid! You killed them!"

"Killed who?" Harry butted in.

"The Riddles! The night they died, I saw a teenager sneaking around the grounds. Told him to go away, then...the Riddles died. They said it was old Morfin Gaunt, took him to some prison and everything, but I know it wasn't."

"And what do I have to do with this?" Tom asked, intensely focused on the man.

"You look like them! All of them!"

"All of who?"

"That teenager...they always talked about how Tom Riddle had run off with that wretch, Merope Gaunt, but then he came back saying that she'd done something to him, an—"

Tom furiously walked over and grabbed the man's shirt, pulling his wand out and pointing it to the gardener's temple. "And what?" he asked threateningly.

Looking paler than a ghost, the man shakily said, "She was pregnant when he left her, and supposedly no one knows what happened to her and the baby, but I knew." He swallowed. "That teenager came back to kill them — he was Riddle's son. I saw him walking up the hill, and thought to myself that he looked a fair bit like a Riddle, him being black haired and pale-skinned. I reckon he got into the house somehow, and killed them. There were three bright green flashes of light, then the maid started screaming 'Murder! Murder!' after she found the three of them."

"Tell me their names," Tom demanded.

Glancing at the wand pointed to his head, though it probably just looked like a fancy stick to him, the gardener continued. "T-Thomas Riddle, he was the oldest, and then his wife Mary Riddle, and their son, Tom Riddle."

"Was there anything _strange_ about them?" Tom asked, trying to figure out if they were magical or not.

"No, though everyone in town thought that they were too snobbish for their own good."

Tom sucked in a deep, heaving breath at having learned that his father was probably just a regular Muggle. "What is your name?"

"F-Frank Bryce," he stuttered helplessly.

Tom gave him an alarming smile while Harry stood there uncomfortably. Tom moved so that he and Frank Bryce were directly across from each other, and looked intently into the gardener's eyes. Suddenly, Bryce's eyes were glassy and his muscles relaxed.

Tom turned around. "Harry, come here."

Obediently, Harry complied, unsure of what Tom was trying to do.

"Place your wand on top of our hands," Tom commanded, gesturing to where his right hand sat on top of Frank Bryce's left. "and focus your magic."

Though confused by Tom's antics, Harry didn't have the energy to argue with his friend and did exactly what he had told him to do, his wand tip slightly aglow.

"I vow never to reveal any knowledge of the encounter that I had today, and I will never tell anyone of the two boys that questioned me here."

Golden, glittering tendrils of light exited Harry's wand, wrapping themselves around Frank Bryce and Tom's hands. The strings of magic sank into their hands, and Harry pulled his wand away.

Tom grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him away from the Riddles' manor, not even pausing to investigate the graveyard that he had previously found so interesting. Inexplicably sensing the strong emotions Tom was feeling, Harry followed him without saying anything.

"Do you have your Invisibility Cloak?" Tom asked, turning quickly to face Harry.

"What?" Harry responded stupidly.

"You heard me. Do you have it?"

"Yes."

"And do you have your broomstick?"

A look of realization crossed Harry's face, and Harry understood Tom's plans. "Yes. Let's go." Scrunching his face slightly, Harry added, "Why didn't we think of this earlier?"

"Because I was blinded by my eagerness to find out about my family, and because you just weren't thinking," Tom replied matter-of-factly. Harry brought his Nimbus out of his bag, concentrating intently on unshrinking it. After a few minutes of Tom impatiently tapping his foot, the broom returned to full size and they hopped on, with Tom making Harry promise not to put them in a dangerous situation for the second time that day. Draping the Invisibility Cloak over their shoulders, they flew back to the beach of Greater Hangleton, which was an overall much better experience than hitchhiking. They landed near the train station.

Shrinking his broomstick again and stuffing the Cloak into his backpack, Harry walked back to the beach, Tom behind him.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!" Mrs. Cole shouted at them once she'd seen them. An angry flush covered her wrinkly face, making her look like a withered tomato.

"We were just exploring that cave over there, Mrs. Cole," Harry lied easily. "Sorry if we caused any problems."

"You have been missing for over two hours! Miss Emily was about to go to the police!"

"I'm flattered that you missed us so much, Mrs. Cole, but honestly, we were completely safe, and—"

Mrs. Cole was looking at Tom suspiciously. "That cave?" she asked him.

A look of understanding crossed Tom's face. "Yes, that one. I don't see the problem with it."

Mrs. Cole thought that Tom was the son of the Tom Riddle she'd known, as far as Harry knew. Her mouth slightly open, as if she was going to say something else, Mrs. Cole turned away from them, shaking her head. "We're leaving in ten minutes. You two had better be there." She walked away, towards the other orphans and Miss Emily, who were all looking at their interaction curiously. "One Riddle then, another Riddle now, and Potter to go with them," she muttered under her breath.

Harry turned to Tom. "Explain everything. Right now."

Tom was plainly irked that his father's family had been Muggle, and that his supposed mother had been considered a wretch, but resolved to research her family anyway. He described how there was a vow possible, the Unbreakable Vow, that would result in the death of anyone who broke it, hence the name "Unbreakable."

"Because you didn't cast an actual spell, and just used your magic as the bonder, the Ministry can't detect it," Tom explained.

"And the cave?" Harry prompted.

"We came to this place when I was younger, in the past. I didn't know that it was Greater Hangleton, though, because they referred to it as 'the beach.'" Tom thought for a moment. "One time, on a trip to 'the beach,' I persuaded Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop, two particularly annoying orphans, to follow me into the cave. I was just beginning to discover my magic, and tested it on them."

"What happened?"

"Well...I can make people hurt when I want them to," Tom said, pausing. "and I did it to both of them. They were never the same afterwards, but I threatened them so they couldn't tell anyone it was me. Mrs. Cole knew, though, somehow."

"Merlin, Tom," Harry remarked lightly. "that's...well, I don't know. Interesting, I suppose, in a strange way."

Tom didn't respond, because the grating call of Miss Emily for the orphans to board the train again interrupted them. That night, once they were back at the orphanage (more like "Wool's Home for Children," as it had been renamed), Harry couldn't sleep, tossing and turning over the events of that day.

Little did he and Tom know, Frank Bryce would die the next day while conversing with the police. His last words were "two boys, black haired, one with dark eyes and the other with green." No one knew the cause of death, but the coroner just assumed it to be old age.


	18. Dobby

Author's Note: I've gotten a few questions as to why there are two diaries. Just to clarify, Tom's diary that he found underneath the floorboard is NOT the Horcrux, and there are two diaries because of the paradox caused by time travel.

* * *

The next morning, there were two letters waiting in Harry and Tom's bedroom. The thing about the letters, though, was that they were from the Ministry of Magic. Harry quickly opened his, a sudden feeling of dread growing in his stomach.

 _Dear Mr. Potter,_

 _We have received intelligence that a Vow Bonding Spell was used by you or in your presence yesterday afternoon at seven minutes before noon. As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C)._

 _We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy. Enjoy your holidays!_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk_

"It's just a warning," Harry muttered in relief. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to bear living the rest of his life as a Muggle and watching his wand be snapped right in front of him. "What does yours say?" he asked Tom.

"Probably the same thing, but it's a warning for using Shattering Charms, especially in the presence of Muggles."

"So can they tell who casts the spell?" Harry asked.

"I don't think so. They go by location, I think, so the nearest wizard to where the spell is cast gets the blame." Tom thought for a second. "Which means that—"

"—purebloods and half-bloods living in a magical household can get away with casting magic," Harry completed. "That's completely unfair."

Tom nodded in agreement. A knowing look passed over his face. "Want to spend the rest of the summer in a place where we can cast magic?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, annoyed that Tom knew something he didn't. "Where?"

"There may or may not have been a letter from Draco Malfoy. An invitation, if you will."

Confusion clouded Harry's expression. "But, why would he send you a letter and not—" His featured perked up as the answer to his half-completed question dawned on him. "You took my letter."

Tom smirked. "Not _your_ letter, Harry. It was addressed to me."

"That doesn't make any sense. He'd send me one too."

"Right," Tom said. "I think your mail's being withheld. I figured it out after Malfoy's letter to me came without another for you. I used Hedwig to send you a letter last night, as a test, and when she made a circle around the building and flew back in to find you, there was no letter."

"I don't think a person intercepted that," Harry said. "How would they have been able to find Hedwig within ten seconds _and_ take away the mail?"

"Magic explains most things, you know," Tom replied. Suddenly, a loud popping noise rang out, almost like a gunshot, or a car engine backfiring. A small creature, about half Harry's height, was standing there. It was clad in dirty potato sack and had wrinkly skin and tennis-ball colored eyes.

"Dobby is most pleased to meet Harry Potter, he is!" the creature, Dobby, chirped.

"Erm, no offense, Dobby, but what are you? And why are you wearing _that_?" Harry asked.

"Dobby is a house-elf, sir. He must serve his family until they give him clothes." The elf gestured towards his burlap sack. "'Tis the mark of a house-elf's enslavement, sir."

Tom peered curiously at Dobby. "What family do you serve?"

"Oh, a very, very bad one!" Dobby exclaimed, still turned towards Harry. After a moment, he around in surprise to face Tom. The elf's face paled. "You is a bad wizard, you!"

"Not yet," said Tom annoyedly, slightly clenching his jaw. "We're different."

"On another note," Harry began, changing the subject before Tom could do something to the poor elf, "why are you here, Dobby?"

"Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!"

"Why not?"

"Dobby hears of a bad plot for this school year. It is most horrible." Dobby shuddered, his large eyes watery. Immediately afterwards, he began to bang his head on the door of Tom's wardrobe, over and over, like the ticking of the world's strangest metronome. Tom, being his usual self, was watching the whole thing with reserved interest, along with — if Harry was seeing properly — a small smile. Harry just shook his head, finally deciding to make the crazed creature calm down.

"Dobby, stop!" The elf did so at Harry's command, muttering something about being a bad elf and having to punish himself. It was all quite twisted.

"And I'm assuming you can't tell us anything about the plot," Tom surmised, jumping back to the previous topic of discussion. Dobby shook his head in response.

"Fine, I won't go to Hogwarts this year," Harry declared, smiling thinly at the elf.

Tom's eyes widened comically in shock. "What?!" His face scrunched in surprise, before Harry gave him an indicative look that implied that Tom should shut up.

"You don't have to worry, Dobby. I'll just stay at the orphanage. It'll be loads of fun." Harry stepped towards Dobby, who wasn't able to sense Harry's sarcastic tone. "Though I would really like my letters back…" he prompted, knowing that the elf had probably taken them.

Dobby looked plainly bashful as he pulled out a bundle of letters and handed them to Harry, who thumbed through them quickly. There was Tom's single letter, a few from Draco, and even one from Hermione Granger. Stuffing them into his pocket to read later, Harry waved a small goodbye to the house-elf, who immediately disappeared with another popping noise.

"Good thinking," Tom said quietly. The compliment meant a lot, seeing as Tom wasn't the type of person to give praise. "Just to confirm, though — you're definitely going?"

"Thanks, I thought it was too. And yes, I don't think anything could keep me away from Hogwarts. Imagine me staying here and helping Mrs. Cole with her knitting while you were off learning magic at Hogwarts." They both laughed at that thought, especially because she had forced them all to knit a few weeks ago and Harry had somehow managed to get the needles caught in his hair and the yarn torn to shreds.

"Should I tell Draco to come pick us up, then?" Tom questioned, settling down on his bed. Harry nodded, still a bit apprehensive to have Lucius Malfoy pick them up from a Muggle orphanage, but it _was_ the easiest and cheapest option…

Stepping across the floor to grab a piece of parchment, Harry's foot caught on a loose floorboard, causing him to trip and fall. While Tom laughed and Harry scowled jokingly, the cogs were turning in Harry's mind. He was reminded of the first day he had met Tom, almost exactly a year ago. Tom had pulled something out from under that floorboard, and now Harry was determined to find out what.

"Remember how on the day we met, you found something underneath that floorboard?" Harry bluntly asked, first trying to get a direct answer out of Tom. He finished writing the letter to the Malfoys, and sent it out the window with Hedwig.

"Yes. And?"

"And what was it?"

"Oh, nothing, really. Just an old journal," Tom said vaguely, waving his hand in an airy gesture.

"Can I see it?" Harry asked again, inching towards the other boy.

"Sure," replied Tom with a glint in his eyes. Surprisingly, he headed over to his wardrobe and pulled out a black journal from the drawer. On its back cover, it said T.M. Riddle. Harry opened it up and was surprised to find that it was blank.

"Only I can read it. I charmed it while we were still at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, thinking about how clever it was, and how he should get a journal and charm it in the same way. However, it was time for breakfast, so his thoughts were interrupted by a bell ringing.

* * *

After breakfast, when Harry was able to retreat to his room again, there was another letter waiting with Hedwig.

 _Dear Harry and Tom,_

 _My father and I will be at the...orphanage (is that what you call it?) tomorrow at nine in the morning. Be ready, because I don't think my father wants to interact with the Muggles there very much. We'll go straight to Malfoy Manor so you can get settled in, and then we'll go to Diagon Alley for school supplies._

 _Your friend,_

 _Draco Malfoy_

"Mr. Malfoy will be here at nine tomorrow," Harry said to Tom, who had snatched the letter out of Harry's hands. He nodded, then furiously moved to his trunk and began to carefully fill it with his various books and other belongings. Harry did the same, except not as neatly, instead electing to shove everything in and hope that it fit.

The rest of the day seemed to be the longest Harry had ever experienced. Harry was reading an old Muggle book he'd found in the attic, called the _Odyssey_. The archaic language made it a fair bit boring, but he was so bored he didn't know what else to do. Tom was furiously brandishing his wand in different wand motions.

"Be careful. You could actually cast a spell, you know," Harry told him. Tom gave him a haughty look as if to say that he would never be that stupid or incompetent.

Finally it was time to go to sleep in the orphanage, though it wasn't really working that well for Harry. He tossed and turned, extremely impatient to leave Wool's. The electric green, plastic stars that were on the ceilings of all of the orphanage rooms seemed to taunt him. He got up and started checking over his trunk for the third time, making sure that he hadn't forgotten anything. Half an hour later, he climbed back into his bed, and somehow, eventually, he was able to sleep.

* * *

Like usual, he was shaken awake roughly by Tom, who promptly told him that it was eight o'clock and that they had an hour or less to tell the orphanage matron that they were leaving, double (or quadruple) check that they had everything, and be ready to intercept the Malfoys before they could encounter any Muggles. An encounter between Lucius Malfoy and Mrs. Cole could prove disastrous.

At exactly 9:00, a head of long, platinum blonde hair was seen walking up to the front of the orphanage, followed by a head of short platinum blonde hair. Harry and Tom lugged their trunks down the stairs; they were unfortunately heavy, seeing as there hadn't been a chance to reapply feather-light charms. Harry also carried Hedwig's cage, and Tom had Mari wrapped around his left arm. They had already explained that a friend from their boarding school would be coming to pick them up to Mrs. Cole, who hadn't been given a chance to speak as a result of their hasty explanation.

They pushed through the front door and allowed it to slam behind them, only to be met with two shocked Malfoys.

"We're ready to go, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said brightly, watching as Lucius Malfoy slowly regained his externally calm demeanor.

"Wonderful, then. We'll be traveling by Portkey, so do you know of any places where we won't be seen by _Muggles_?" he asked, saying the last word of the question with a fair bit of disdain.

Tom nodded. "There's an abandoned shop on Vauxhall Road, and we can slip inside there."

Harry hadn't known that there even was a Vauxhall Road near the orphanage, only a Vauxhall Bridge Road. Nevertheless, Tom led them away towards a deteriorating shop with a floor of now-dull oak wood. Harry reasoned that Tom probably frequented the place back in the '30s.

Brushing off his black, finely-hemmed robes, Mr. Malfoy pulled a silver button out of his pocket. "Place your hands on the Portkey, and I'll activate it in three seconds." They all did so, though there was barely any room left afterwards. Nodding and making eye contact with all of them, Lucius Malfoy said one word: "prestige."

A feeling akin to a hook tugging at Harry's navel overtook him, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was standing in the green lawns of Malfoy Manor.

The manor was large and surrounded by rose trellises, hedges, and an expanse of green forest visible in the background. Harry was able to actually observe it for the first time, because it had been mostly dark during the Malfoys' New Year event. Draco eagerly led them towards the front of the house, and Harry nearly smiled upon seeing an albino peacock, possibly the same one that Tom had compared Draco's genetics to.

Once inside, they were greeted by Mrs. Malfoy, who they hadn't had a chance to really talk to at the party. She hugged a blushing Draco warmly, which was a bit strange to witness from two people who usually had cold, reserved appearances. She had long hair, with both dark and blonde streaks. It was strange, but Harry had learned long ago not to question the inexplicable genetics of wizards. Oftentimes, he'd been told that his eyes were far too green to be possible by Muggles.

Draco led them upstairs to the two rooms that they would be staying in. The entire house was decked in dark shades of forest green, burgundy, royal purple, and a rich, dark blue, so it was no surprise to see that Harry's guest room was dark blue with gold accents and Tom's was forest green and silver. Harry could tell that Tom liked that his room had Slytherin colors.

"What do you think?" Draco asked, breaking Harry out of his musing.

"It's great," Harry said with a gracious smile. "Thank you, Draco." The boy in question smiled proudly.

Tom, who had just walked out of his room, simply said, "Acceptable." Harry discreetly kicked him until he added, "It's very nice. Thank you for being so hospitable."

Satisfied, Draco showed them around the rest of the house, pointing out its many rooms. A devious expression passed over his face before he asked them "Do you want to see something cool?"

Tom nodded politely, while Harry said "sure." Quickly checking to make sure that his parents weren't near, Draco opened an old, ornate door and led them down a set of stairs. As they descended, the temperature seemed to drop at least ten degrees. Eventually, they stopped, and in front of them were a few old cells. The ground was covered in damp puddles, and a musty odor lingered in the air.

"These are the dungeons," Draco told them quietly. "We don't use them much anymore, but in the past, they were used to hold prisoners captured during the campaigns of several dark lords." Quickly glancing at Harry and remembering exactly who it was he had in his company, Draco awkwardly said, "Sorry, Harry, I forgot—"

"—Don't worry about it, Draco. I don't care. In fact, I find it really interesting."

The blonde-haired boy brightened, and began to take them through each of the cells in the manner that a tour guide would. In the final cell, they came across an actual human skeleton, which Draco explained was over two-hundred years old and had been a rather bothersome Puritan Muggle, one who was advocating witch burnings. His uncle had apparently cursed the skeleton so that it would remain there forever. Once he, Draco, and Tom had fully observed the skeleton, they went back up the stairs, where lunch was evidently waiting for them.

They sat at a polished wooden table adjacent to the kitchen of the manor. Three plates of Sunday roast were placed perfectly on the table, and they sat down to eat. Draco, however, looked a bit disappointed in his meal.

"DOBBY!" he practically screeched. "I told you that I don't like pepper on my roast. It makes me sneeze! How many times is it going to take?"

Tom snickered into his hand at Draco's picky food preferences. "So Dobby is _your_ house-elf, then," he said.

Turning towards them, Draco said, "What do you mean by _my_ house-elf? You've met Dobby?"

Harry disguised a laugh as a cough. "He paid us a visit at the orphanage, trying to get me not to go to Hogwarts."

The house-elf was standing shyly behind Draco, his head and floppy ears drooping even more so than usual. He was quietly sniffling. "Dobby," Draco began, practically seething, "you will not bother Harry Potter or Tom Riddle again. That is an order."

Dobby nodded and then snapped his fingers, disappearing with his characteristic "pop!" Draco's plate was now pepper-free, and he slowly faced Harry and Tom.

"All I know is that my father is planning something at Hogwarts. I don't really know what, but I...I don't want either of you to get hurt because of what he's doing, so just...be careful."

Harry gave him an affirmative nod. Tom was obviously thinking, as there was a speculative gleam in his dark eyes. They continued to eat their lunch, but Harry was too busy thinking about what Draco said and what the plot could be, thus losing his appetite.

"It's possible to do magic here undetected, right?" he asked Draco.

"Yes, but Father always knows. He has some sort of ward on the place that detects magic."

"Even wandless?" Tom casually questioned, cutting up his roast.

"Erm, I don't really know," Draco finally said after a long pause. "No one here really does it."

"Oh." Harry decided to try it, for he was always the one known for pushing the limits of the rules. Subtly moving his hand over his plate and making sure that Draco couldn't notice, he tried to vanish a bit of the food. It worked, but there was no way of telling if the elder Malfoy would be able to tell that he did so. Tom likely knew what Harry had done, though, based on the amused look he was giving Harry.

At that moment, a regal eagle owl soared into the kitchen, three letters neatly attached to its left leg. Draco untied them and handed the bird a Knut. The classic Hogwarts red wax seal was a clear indicator as to what the letters were.

"Hogwarts supply lists!" Draco exclaimed happily, handing Harry and Tom their respective letters, although Harry noticed something strange with the supply lists.

"Why are all of the Defense books written by this Gilderoy Lockhart bloke?" he asked.

Draco shrugged. "My father's met him. He always said that the man was a ponce. Lockhart's popular in a lot of Mother's social circles, but she's never understood why that is."

"His books are complete rubbish," Tom said angrily. "I had the misfortune of finding one in the library. _Gadding with Ghouls_ , I think it was. His stories don't add up and they're more like fictional narratives than actual textbooks." Harry frowned upon hearing the information, which was quickly forgotten as Draco extended his tour to outside the manor.

That afternoon, they headed to the large field to the right of Malfoy Manor. Harry and Draco played a few games of "Catch the Snitch," while Tom elected to read a book under a large oak tree. It was then that Draco expressed his desire to join the House Team as a Chaser. He'd initially wanted the position of Seeker, but that was impossible with Harry on the team.

* * *

As Harry woke up the next day, he remembered that they were supposed to go to Diagon Alley. Mr. Malfoy had informed them that they would be using Floo travel. Harry unwillingly got out of the comfortable bed and prepared for the day.

"You've traveled by Floo before, I presume," said Lucius Malfoy, standing at the hearth with an ornate jar of Floo powder. At his right was Mrs. Malfoy.

Harry gently nodded. "Yes, sir, we used it to travel to your New Year's Eve party."

"If you say 'Diagon Alley' clearly, the Floo network will take you directly to The Leaky Cauldron. Narcissa will go first so that she can wait for you two."

With that said, Mrs. Malfoy regally pulled up her robes and grabbed a small handful of powder. In the stone fireplace, she disappeared in a puff of green smoke after clearly saying, "Diagon Alley!"

Tom was next, and he did the same, and then Harry stepped up. He was worried of saying something stupid and ending up in Hogsmeade, but he made sure to say "Diagon Alley" perfectly. He landed roughly in the parlor of The Leaky Cauldron, his glasses fallen cleanly off of his face. Blushing a bit, Harry stood up, explaining how "that always happens" and wiping off his robes. Tom just snickered and pointed out the soot covering Harry's forehead and fringe.

Draco and Mr. Malfoy arrived immediately afterwards. Mr. Malfoy carried his classic cane, which held his wand, according to Draco. First, they headed to Gringotts. Tom picked up his allocated fund for that year and Harry was able to grab some more Galleons from his vault. The Malfoys did the same. Their vault was filled with an extremely large amount of gold, not to mention that it also held magical artifacts.

They got their robes adjusted at Madam Malkin's, as all three of them had grown considerably over the past year. Following that, they purchased their potions supply kits, ink, and quills. The only stop remaining was Flourish and Blotts, the bookstore. Mr. Malfoy had some business someplace else, likely Knockturn Alley, Harry thought. So, only Harry, Draco, Tom, and Mrs. Malfoy would be going to the bookstore.

Groaning in annoyance, Harry saw the sign on the door. Apparently, Gilderoy Lockhart would be in the bookshop signing books, and Harry really wasn't looking forward to meeting him after all that he'd heard from Tom and Draco.

Sneaking inside, Harry, Tom, and Draco crept around the store, grabbing their necessary texts from various shelves around the store. Based on what Lockhart was saying, the man had an ego bigger than Tom's, and that was saying something. Now, the only books left on their supply lists were those for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry had been hoping to just snag a pile of books from behind the jabbering man, but, of course, he had no such luck. A reporter, eager to get a good view of Lockhart, shoved Harry and Draco aside. Tom had had the good sense to retreat into the back corner of the shop. A moment later, the reporter recognized Harry, who was unsuccessfully trying to get away.

"It's Harry Potter!" the reported exclaimed, snapping a few blinding shots of Harry. He dragged Harry up to Lockhart's makeshift stage, who immediately grabbed Harry and sent a big grin to the many flashing cameras. Harry forced his face into something resembling a smile, because he _really_ did not want his ugly wince to be plastered across the front of The Daily Prophet.

Lockhart was still rambling on. "—an extraordinary moment this is! It's the perfect moment for me to inform you all of a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time now!" From his position on the stage, Harry could see the enamored face of Hermione Granger and a scowling Ron Weasley, along with a redheaded woman who he presumed to be Ron's mother.

Dressed in bright blue robes and with his hair perfectly gelled, Lockhat continued. "When Harry walked into Flourish and Blotts on this fine day, he did not realize that he would be getting a full collection of my written works, along with the newly printed copy of _Magical Me_ that he first intended to purchase." The crowd cheered. Lockhart — the utter git — had the audacity to ruffle Harry's already-messy hair.

"That is not my main bit of news, though. I am pleased to announce that, come September, I will be happily taking the position of Defense professor at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" He gave Harry a patronizing smile. "That's right, everyone! Harry and his schoolmates will be getting the real magical me!"

Completely horrified at the announcement, Harry scampered off the stage to find Tom and Draco. Ron Weasley was looking a bit jealously at Harry, but had the good sense to try and hide it. Next to him stood a young redheaded girl, who Harry assumed to be Ron's sister. She, in contrast to her brother, was looking at Harry with wide eyes and appreciation.

Turning away, Harry encountered Tom and practically shoved the books into his arms, explaining that Tom could use his extra money to buy books he actually wanted. He continued to the register to check out, followed by the others.

In the commotion, Harry failed to notice a small brawl between Mr. Malfoy, who had returned from his "business elsewhere," and Mr. Weasley. He never saw the eerily familiar black journal slip into Ginny Weasley's cauldron.


	19. Back at Hogwarts

The morning of September 1st, Tom Riddle was trying to hide his excitement at returning to school, Harry wasn't, and Draco Malfoy was torn between missing his parents and missing Hogwarts. All three of them had their trunks prepared and were dressed in the regular clothing that most wizards wore under their robes. Mr. Malfoy was a firm believer in being early, or, at the very least, on time, so they were supposed to arrive at King's Cross Station at around 10:30.

The elder Malfoys were apparently going to use something called Side-Along Apparition to travel to the station. From what Harry understood, this was similar to teleportation, and all wizards would be able to do it legally from the age of seventeen. They were going to arrive in a special room in King's Cross, invisible to Muggles and right outside of the barrier of Platform 9 ¾. It was called an Apparition Point, or so Harry'd heard. Mr. Malfoy was going to take Harry and Tom, whereas Mrs. Malfoy was going to take Draco.

"The sensation is rather uncomfortable at first," explained Mrs. Malfoy. "Hold on tightly, and, should you feel the need to...purge yourselves, please do attempt to find the nearest rubbish bin."

Harry thought that sounded extremely unpleasant, but he figured that he might as well get used to Apparition, for it seemed to be the main method of travel for wizards. Mr. Malfoy stiffly offered his left arm to Harry and Tom, both of whom grabbed onto it hesitantly, holding onto their shrunken trunks with their other hands. Without giving them any warning, Mr. Malfoy Apparated to the station.

It felt like Harry was being shoved through a pipe, twisted around violently, and stretched like taffy. When they finally landed with the noise of a car exhaust backfiring, Harry felt more nauseous than he ever had in his entire life. His legs were wobbly and his vision was spinning. Draco looked a little bit ill, but still better off than Harry. Tom looked quite pale, and had an uncomfortable frown smeared across his face. He was maintaining his composure quite well, though.

Harry closed his eyes and stood there, quietly panting, for approximately two minutes. Hedwig gave a little hoot that broke him out of his sickened state. After one more deep breath, he stood up and followed the others out of the small room and towards the platform barrier.

One by one, each member of their group ran towards the barrier, passing through to Platform 9 ¾. The crimson color of the Hogwarts Express greeted them, and the steam emanating from the train made the air pleasantly warm. Harry saw a few familiar faces in the crowd, such as Theodore Nott with his father, Blaise Zabini and his brother, the Weasley family, and Hermione Granger saying farewell to her parents.

"Let's go find a compartment," said Tom wisely to Harry, giving the Malfoy family a pointed glance. It was likely that they wanted a moment of privacy.

They entered the train, which was only halfway-filled so far. The Malfoys had already returned their trunks to their normal size, so Harry and Tom dragged them behind them in search of an empty compartment. Finding one, they sat down. Five minutes later, Draco joined them. He, Harry, and Tom had a casual conversation until Crabbe and Goyle entered the compartment, which caused Tom to mumble something incoherent about "idiocy and incompetence" and to start reading a spellbook.

The rest of the train ride passed in near silence. Draco, obviously at ease within the compartment, had fallen asleep. It was quite hilarious, seeing as he snored and slept with his mouth open, causing him to look rather dopish, which was the opposite of the haughty air that he usually put on. Finally, after a visit from the trolley witch and several half-hearted games of Exploding Snap, they had arrived at Hogwarts to begin their second year.

According to several of the older students that Harry had spoken to, magically-driven carriages would be transferring the students from the train station at Hogsmeade to the actual castle. They followed the rest of the students to the beginning of the barrier forest between the village and the school, where Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had claimed a carriage and Harry and Tom claimed another.

Harry was surprised to see that the carriages weren't driven by just magic alone, but instead by strange-looking, magical creatures. They were a walking conundrum: beautiful and nearly grotesque at the same time, with their inherent grace paired with their skeletal bodies. A quick look to the right showed him that Tom was also thinking about the strange magical horses, although no one else around them seemed to be able to see them.

"Do you see those?" Harry whispered to Tom, glancing quickly at the other students in the other carriages, who were engaged in bland conversations.

"Yes. I think they're called thestrals. I read about them."

"Of course you did. And...there's a reason that we can see them, but no one else can, right?" Harry asked, noting his observations and deductions.

"You have to have seen someone die, and comprehend it," Tom explained.

Suddenly, a dreamy voice interrupted them. "Are you talking about the thestrals?" It came from behind them, where a girl with blonde hair and almost vacant blue eyes was sitting by herself in a carriage. "I love the thestrals," she continued, gingerly touching a bottle cap on the necklace she was wearing.

"Who are you, and how did you hear our conversation?" Tom asked threateningly. Really, it was no wonder the boy hardly had any friends when he threatened anyone new he met. Harry elbowed him.

"Luna Lovegood," she said in a breathy voice. She had pulled out a copy of The Quibbler and was using it to cover half of her face, which, before she covered her mouth, held a peculiar smile. "I've been told on countless occasions that I have exceptional hearing."

"Who did you see die?" Harry asked bluntly, now completely turned around in his seat and ignoring the jab originating from Tom.

"Don't be a Gryffindor," Tom chided quietly. Harry just shrugged. It wasn't the worst thing to be.

"Oh, I don't mind," Luna said. "She was brilliant with potions, my mother was, but one day, she had an unfortunate accident. I just happened to be there." She pulled open a bag she carried with her and popped a Jelly Slug into her mouth. "Care to return the favor?"

"Erm, well, last year—"

Tom interrupted him. "—our _dear_ Professor Quirrell was not exactly who he seemed, and we 'just happened to be there' when he got into some trouble," he said, quoting Luna in an almost mocking manner.

"I see," she finally said, lowering the magazine from her face. Her expression was still defined by the reserved smile she held. "It was nice meeting you, Harry Potter. And…" she paused for a moment, said "Tom Riddle," then waved goodbye and turned to the side, stretching her legs out onto the empty seat.

Awkwardly, Harry also said goodbye. "Well, see you at Hogwarts, I suppose..."

Tom looked alarmed and intrigued at the same time. "How did she know who I was?" he thought aloud, face poised in thought.

"Come on, Tom, she probably just talked to an older student and got a description of the most prominent people in the school. Also, I wouldn't put it past Fred and George Weasley to make her seem omniscient to freak people out."

"No, that's not it. There has to be something else," Tom responded. With those words, the thestrals came to a complete stop in front of the castle's second entrance, just outside the Great Hall.

Harry took his seat at the Slytherin table, simply taking in the sight of the enchanted ceiling and the gentle hum of magic that filled the air. He had definitely missed the castle. He didn't really pay much attention to the Sorting, but he did look up momentarily to see "Lovegood, Luna" get sorted into Ravenclaw and "Weasley, Ginevra" went to Gryffindor. After Ginny Weasley's Sorting, Harry absentmindedly wondered if Sortings, and by extension, personality traits, were genetic at all, or if upbringing was more important.

The feast was wonderful, as all Hogwarts feasts tended to be. At the end of the day, Harry was glad to be back in the Slytherin common room, and he was looking forward to a more relaxing year than last, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

* * *

Ginny Weasley was glad that she had been sorted into Gryffindor. She'd actually considered Slytherin for a second, as she really wanted to get to know Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, better, but that thought was discarded rather quickly. First of all, her family (especially Ron) would probably change their opinions of her if she were to become a Slytherin. Second of all, the Sorting Hat had eliminated Slytherin first of all, simply stating that it wasn't the right house for her.

She was now unpacking her trunk. Ginny fondly ran her hand along the row of books nestled in her trunk, although everything she had was second hand. It was almost hard to believe that she was actually at Hogwarts, and that classes would be starting soon. As the youngest in her family, she'd only heard about the magnificence of the school until now, when she could finally experience it herself.

Ginny looked down at her books once more, pulling them out of her trunk. What was strange, though, was that there was an extra book — one that she never remembered purchasing. On its back cover, embossed and written in golden letters, was T.M. Riddle. Obviously it was someone's diary, and she knew that she shouldn't, but she opened it anyway.

Its pages were blank, no matter how many times she flipped through them. Ginny supposed that it had never been used. Slowly, she made her way down to the Gryffindor common room, where she found Fred and George on a couch, furiously planning something with their friend Lee Jordan. Percy was seated at a desk and was quietly reading, and Ron was laughing at something, surrounded by Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Neville Longbottom. She decided to approach Percy first, because he was the oldest and would undoubtedly know if there had ever been a T.M. Riddle at Hogwarts.

"Hey, erm, Percy?" she said, tapping him gently on the shoulder.

He looked up in shock at first, but relaxed when he saw it was her. "Hello, Ginny. Enjoying Hogwarts so far?" Her brothers had always had a sweet spot in their hearts for her.

"Very much, but I have a question for you. Has there ever been a T.M. Riddle at Hogwarts?"

Percy thought for a moment, absentmindedly twirling his reddish Prefect badge. "Well, there's Tom Riddle, in Ron's year. I think he and Harry Potter are friends, both Slytherins."

"Oh, er, well, thanks, Percy," she managed to stutter, at the same time wondering how she was supposed to approach Tom Riddle. She remembered him from Flourish and Blotts, now able to pair his face with his name.

Returning to the dormitory, Ginny pulled out a quill and the diary, intending to write a note explaining what had happened and to slip the diary to Tom Riddle.

 _Dear Tom Riddle,_

 _I found your diary and thought that you might want it back. Somehow, it was in the middle of my trunk, though I've no idea how that happened. Anyway, here it is._

 _Ginny Weasley_

She screwed the top back onto her ink bottle and cleaned off her quill like her mother had taught her to. Yawning and about to prepare for bed, Ginny turned away from the diary, nearly missing the reply scrawled below her note.

 _Hello Ginny Weasley_ , it said in elegant, spidery penmanship. _If I may ask, how do you know who I am?_

Squinting at the book in suspicion, initially not believing what she had seen, Ginny shakily got out her ink again and dipped her quill.

 _You're a Hogwarts student,_ Ginny began, _and my brother Percy told me about you after I found your diary._

 _What year is it?_

Ginny made a face. Shouldn't Tom Riddle know that? Sighing, she wrote: _Shouldn't you know that? It's 1992. You're a student here, like I said._

 _What year am I in at Hogwarts?_

Ginny rolled her eyes, but answered nonetheless. _Second-year, in Slytherin_ , she wrote. Just then, a wave of magic rushed over her. She wasn't sure what it was, but it felt good. All of the sudden, there was a voice inside her head. It was calming and smooth, and despite the fact that she knew it was Tom Riddle's voice, it sounded much deeper than a twelve-year-old's voice should be. Maybe she wouldn't return the diary just yet.


	20. The Chamber of Secrets

Author's Note: Happy New Year, everyone! (Although it's not 2017 yet where I live.) Also, it's Tom Riddle's birthday today, so happy birthday, I guess. Thanks again for all of your support.

* * *

It was Monday, and Harry and Tom were supposed to have their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Lockhart. Needless to say, neither boy was looking forward to it. Harry supposed that most of the students, barring Hermione and a few others, weren't looking forward to it either.

They walked into the classroom, which was completely covered in portraits and moving pictures of Lockhart himself. It was the most narcissistic thing Harry had even witnessed, and he had to put up with Tom all the time. Sighing, he took a seat between Draco and Tom, offering Hermione Granger a smile after she gave him a small wave, excitement clear in her posture.

Lockhart appeared at the top of the staircase leading to his office, and traipsed downwards towards the students. Striding through the classroom, he reached over to Neville Longbottom's desk and pulled up a copy of _Travels with Trolls_ , then offered them all a wide grin.

"Me," he began, pointing at the picture of himself on the cover. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award — but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!" About half of the classroom erupted into weak laughter.

"And you call _me_ arrogant," Tom whispered to Harry.

Lockhart was still blabbering on. "I'm glad to see that each of you has purchased a complete set of my books. I'm afraid we won't be needing them today, though." He grabbed a stack of parchments from his desk. "Here I have a little pop quiz—" the students groaned. "Oh, it's nothing too difficult. Just a little refresher from the summer reading I hope you all did."

"You have thirty minutes — start — now!" Professor Lockhart shouted, placing a quiz on Harry's desk. Glancing down at it, Harry felt a rush of disbelief. Was the man really this much of a ponce?

 _1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_

 _2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

 _3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

Harry had never been so ashamed for retaining information. He'd read the assigned texts, of course, although he did so unwillingly. Sighing, he debated whether he should write down the correct answers, or if he should have a bit of fun with the quiz. He decided on the latter. His favorite response was to the third question, where he wrote that Lockhart's greatest achievement was "convincing Professor Dumbledore to hire him." To the last question, which had something to do with Lockhart's date of birth and his ideal birthday gift, Harry wrote "February 30th" along with "actual magical talent."

Thirty minutes after the start of the quiz, Harry handed his parchment in with a knowing smile. A quick glance to his right revealed that Tom was silently fuming, which made Harry wonder what the other boy had written on his paper. Lockhart rifled through the papers, tutting and humming occasionally.

"I have to say that I'm quite disappointed by these quizzes. Obviously many of you need to refresh yourselves on my written works." He read through the rest of the papers, gasping quietly. "...a few of you need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully — I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples — though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!"

". . . but Miss Hermione Granger" — Hermione gasped and sat up upon hearing her name — "knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions — good girl! In fact" — he flipped her paper over — "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?" Hermione raised her hand.

"Ten points to Gryffindor. Oh, and as a result of some responses that I find frankly...offensive, I will be having Harry Potter and Tom Riddle in my office this evening for detention. See me after class, the both of you."

The entire class turned to both of them in surprise. Although Harry had no qualms about breaking the rules, he wasn't the type of person to get caught doing so. On the other hand, Tom wanted to maintain the persona of a perfect student, and so had never received a detention before. Tom crossed his arms and jutted out his chin defiantly. He wouldn't have thought so before, but Harry now supposed that Tom absolutely hated Lockhart, whereas Harry merely disliked him. Strongly.

Lockhart continued his path around the classroom. "As your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, it is my duty to warn you of the dangers that may be lurking in the world. In this room, you will encounter creatures most foul...but know that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, will keep you safe." Tom rolled his eyes and Draco sneered.

"Do not be alarmed," Lockhart said dramatically. Stepping over to his desk, he pulled the cover off of a large cage. Inside were about a dozen or so bright blue pixies. They had pointed features (reminding Harry of Draco Malfoy) and were making a shrill cacophony of noises. " _Freshly caught Cornish pixies_ ," intoned the professor.

Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor boy in Harry's year, snickered. Lockhart looked at him in question, eyebrows raised.

"Well, they're not very dangerous, sir, are they?" Finnigan asked lightly, trying to hide a smile.

Lockhart shook his head and wagged his pointer finger. "To a seasoned wizard, such as myself, no, but be warned — they can be tricky little blighters!" With that, he opened the cage.

Immediately, the class erupted into a panic. Neville Longbottom leapt under his desk after a few pixies charged at him. They made silly faces at the students and were effectively wrecking the classroom. A large group of them rammed into the window, breaking the glass, while some of the others were messing with students and lifting them up. Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey Davis, a trio of Slytherin girls, had had the good sense to leave the classroom. Lavender Brown was shrieking while a particularly mischievous pixie was pulling on her hair. Hermione was immobilizing them one by one with a freezing charm, and Harry decided to follow suit.

Lockhart was still standing in the front of the classroom, looking a bit shocked and dismayed at the carnage that the pixies were causing. He shouted something about rounding them up, then rolled up his sleeves and shouted " _Peskipiksi pesternomi!_ " It did nothing to alleviate the problem his class was facing.

Most of the students (well, those who hadn't fled) had now caught on with the others and were trying to immobilize the pixies. The bell rung just as Harry finished freezing the final pixie. He hastily retreated into the corridor, Tom in tow. Draco and the others had gone on to lunch.

"That...that idiot!" Tom shouted, nearly to the point of shaking. It was uncharacteristic of him to show emotion, and his sudden anger was slightly alarming.

"I know he's an idiot, Tom, but is it really worth getting angry over? And besides, we need to go back in there...we still have to meet with him after class."

Tom scowled darkly. "He can't possibly have done all the things he says he's done in his books, and I'm determined to figure out how he pulled it off." He paced outside of the classroom for another few seconds before finally entering it. Harry followed, only to find Lockhart awkwardly standing amidst the wreckage he had caused. He looked utterly lost, and visibly had no idea of what to do to fix the room.

"Try _fragmina reparo_ ," Harry offered quietly, taking in the destroyed room. Tom gave him a look for helping Lockhart. He was still quite miffed.

Lockhart responded with an exasperated smile, running a hand through his well-gelled flaxen hair. "Now, boys, I think you both know why you're here. I expected better from you, Harry, though I'm sorry to say that I had no expectations for Tom, on account of not knowing him. But, as I always say, first impressions are important." He gave Tom a pointed glance.

"I wasn't aware that you knew me well, sir," Harry said carefully.

Before the professor could respond, Tom interrupted. "With all due respect, sir, I'd prefer being referred to by my last name."

Eyes widening slightly, Lockhart nodded. "Sorry, boys. It's just that I'm new to teaching. I suppose I still have a lot to learn! After all, this isn't anything like defeating a vampire, or facing a ghoul!"

"I'm sure," came Tom's sarcastic reply.

"Anywho, I don't want to give you an overly harsh punishment. Let's see...how about a detention with me, in my office, at around eight?"

They nodded quietly, and Lockhart dismissed them from the classroom. Harry could sense the annoyance radiating from Tom, especially because of the strange link that Voldemort had caused between them. It'd been similar with Quirrell too, except that it was more unpleasant back then.

* * *

The detention was quite boring, and they were tasked with answering some of Lockhart's fanmail. It was still uneventful, though, and at the end of the day they were back in the comfort of the Slytherin dormitory.

"What did you write to get a detention?" Harry asked casually.

Tom raised his eyebrows and smiled. "I thought it was fairly clever. I got the right answers, but I circled a letter in several of them to spell out 'LOCKHART IS AN INCOMPETENT WIZARD'" Harry thought it was impressive, and possibly more subtle than the method he had chosen. Tom continued. "I was a bit surprised that he understood the message, but I did include a helpful note at the top." That made Harry snicker a bit.

"It looks like we'll have to continue our private study this year," he said.

Tom nodded. "I wonder if we'll ever get a good Defense professor."

"Not likely, because there's apparently a curse on the position."

Harry then got back to his Herbology essay on Mandrake plant, which were actually quite useful. He imagined using one against an enemy in a serious battle...sure, his opponent would probably laugh at the idea of using a plant, but imagine his or her surprise when it cried out. He went to sleep that night thinking about what his second year at Hogwarts would bring.

* * *

Before Harry knew it, it was Halloween. Classes were passing on as usual, though Lockhart, ever since the fiasco with the pixies, was now teaching them through their so-called "textbooks." Needless to say, it was very unpleasant to be chosen to read a scene from Lockhart's books aloud.

Halloween that year was on a Saturday, so there was a carefree feeling in the air. Students wouldn't have to focus on homework. Even the Bloody Baron, Slytherin House's resident ghost, whose appearance oftentimes spooked younger and older students alike, was being as amicable as he could. He was seated at the end of the table, his silvery wounds nearly hidden.

Earlier that week, there'd been a bit of a misunderstanding on the Quidditch pitch. Once Draco had admitted to himself that Harry's skills as Seeker surpassed his, he tried out for the position of Chaser, adding the offer of brand new Nimbus 2001s for the whole team to seal the deal. It was the most Slytherin thing to do, but it worked, and Harry was glad to have a friend on the Quidditch team.

Both the Gryffindor team and the Slytherin team had incidentally booked the field at the same time (maybe not so incidental for the Slytherins), and an argument ensued. Draco had called Hermione a Mudblood, and Ron Weasley had been ready to hex him until Harry himself had started yelling at Draco. Apparently, Ron and Hermione were friends now, which was a stark contrast to last year, when Ron's tactless comments had caused Hermione to get trapped in the bathroom with a troll.

"Draco, you can't say things like that! We may not share the same perspectives on the discrimination that Muggleborns face, but it's still not right to call someone a Mudblood. My mother was a Muggleborn! And, for all you know, Tom could be a Muggleborn too." Harry was just lucky that Tom was in the library that day, for the boy would likely have hit him. He liked to believe that he wasn't a Muggleborn, which was likely, as Tom's alternate persona was Lord Voldemort, a vicious advocator of pureblood supremacy.. Harry didn't see the problem with being a Muggleborn, though, other than the way that bigoted purebloods treated them.

Draco had then clenched his jaw. His expression, however, was one of slight regret and his cheeks had reddened out of shame. Harry's Slytherin teammates, including Marcus Flint, likely shared Draco's ideology, but had thankfully remained silent. The Gryffindors had been properly satiated after Harry's public scorning of Draco, and so both houses had conceded to sharing the pitch. It was very extraordinary, considering the intense rivalry that was present between the two Hogwarts houses.

Now, Harry was seated at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, unable to share the lighthearted and festive spirits of the students around him. It _was_ the anniversary of his parents' deaths, after all. He ate quickly, hoping to be able to go back to the dormitory early for some much-needed peace and quiet.

"I think I'm going to head back to the dungeons," Harry said, staring at one of the magically animated bats that was flying around the Great Hall.

Draco stood up abruptly. "What?! Why?!" Harry gave him a look as if to say "be quieter."

"My parents were murdered on Halloween."

The blonde's face fell. "Oh, right...sorry." He glanced around the table, his eyes momentarily fixing on a bright orange pumpkin. "Well, Crabbe and Goyle really aren't the best company, and Tom doesn't really talk to me" — Tom glared at him — "so I might as well go with you, Harry."

"I'll go too," Tom said. The Halloween Feast had never appealed to him that much.

The three of them were on the second floor when they came across a strange ghost. Harry had never seen her before, but she floated aimlessly before them, and didn't seem to have noticed them yet.

"That's Moaning Myrtle," Draco said quietly. "Pansy told me about her...she keeps all the girls out of the second-floor lavatory because of her constant wailing."

Suddenly, the ghost in question turned towards them. She was still dressed in Hogwarts robes, marked with the Ravenclaw emblem, and she opened her mouth as if she was going to say something. She stopped suddenly, though, upon seeing Tom, and became even paler than she already was, if that was possible for a ghost.

"I know you!" she screeched, circling around Tom suspiciously. "You're Tom Riddle. We went to Hogwarts together, though you were three years ahead of me…"

"I'm sorry, but you have the wrong person," Tom said icily. Draco didn't know his origins. "That was my father."

Myrtle stopped her circling and blinked twice. "You look the same," she whined, scowling for being wrong. "How was poor, miserable Myrtle supposed to know?" she asked to no one in particular, then flew off.

Draco swiveled towards Tom, his surprise apparent. "Your father went to Hogwarts?"

"Yes, though he was quite old when he had me," Tom lied. "I never got a chance to meet him, and I ended up at the orphanage."

Draco made a noncommittal humming sound. They were nearly to the stairs when they came across something even odder than Moaning Myrtle. A strange figure was strung up, and a message was written clearly on the wall:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Harry rushed over to the figure, which turned out to be Mrs. Norris, the mangy cat of the school's caretaker, Filch. She was completely stiff, as if she had been preserved with taxidermy. He looked down and noticed that the bottom of his robes were soaked with water. The corridor was flooded.

"We should get out of here," Harry said nervously, not wanting to get caught at the scene of a crime. It was too late, though, as the sound of the other students returning to the feast could be heard. Their footsteps were getting nearer and nearer, rumbling like an approaching train would.

The first group of Hufflepuff students stopped in shock, their eyes impossibly wide as they took in the scene before them. Harry froze. This was not good...they had absolutely no alibi aside from their own accounts. It was probable that the other students had noticed them leave, or at least noticed their absence.

"What on earth has happened here?" sounded the voice of Professor McGonagall. She hadn't yet made her way to the front of the crowd. When she did, she audibly gasped, her eyes scanning until they landed on Harry, Draco, and Tom.

"Mr. Riddle, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Malfoy, follow me, please," she commanded, just as Filch appeared and began shouting incoherently about his poor cat, his eyes filled with grief.

"You should use my office, Professor," Lockhart sounded in. "It's nearest — just upstairs."

"Thank you, Gilderoy," McGonagall said coldly. Dumbledore had appeared beside her, his face made older by his serious expression.

"Severus, Argus, it'd be best for you to join us," the headmaster instructed. Snape nodded and Filch let out another wail, having finally gotten ahold of Mrs. Norris in her cold, hard state.

Once they were all in the office, Dumbledore began to inspect Mrs. Norris. Lockhart was blabbering on about curses that could have killed her, and how he would have countered them. "She is not dead, Argus," Dumbledore said softly, his half-moon glasses glinting, "merely Petrified."

"Fix my cat, then!" Filch shouted. "They did it! I know they did, lousy students…" He turned his watery eyes onto the three second-years, sweeping over them.

"Pomona will be able to un-Petrify her with a Mandrake Restorative Draught. Unfortunately, until they are mature, there is nothing we can do," the headmaster said solemnly. Filch's heaving sobs began again.

"Now, would the three of you like to tell me what you were doing when this act took place?"

"Well," Harry began, "we were in the Great Hall for the start of the feast, but I wasn't really in the mood, seeing as my parents were killed on Halloween" — he paused for dramatic effect, and several sympathetic tutting noises could be heard — "so we decided to go back to the dormitory. On the way back, we encountered Moaning Myrtle, the ghost, and then we found Mrs. Norris and the writing."

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes passed over them again, and Draco shifted in discomfort. "Tom?" he questioned. McGonagall sucked in a breath. It seemed that she and Dumbledore were the only ones who knew Tom's identity.

"I swear that I was with Harry and Draco," he said, hesitating a bit. It was strange how such a good liar could be so bad at making the actual truth seem genuine.

"I see. I don't believe a second-year could have done this, as it involves the darkest of magic," Dumbledore finally responded, standing up. "I simply hope that the heir, whomever he may be, has the good sense to stop these events before they get out of hand," he said clearly, though it was unclear who the message was intended for. His eyes lingered on Tom for a short moment. "You are all free to go."

With the eyes of everyone in the room on them, Tom, Harry, and Draco left, walking silently to the common room. All of the other Slytherins were waiting in there.

As soon as Draco muttered the password at the portrait ("serpentes") the attention of the entirety of Slytherin House fell onto them. The question of what had happened was apparent on the faces of everyone in the common room, but no one had the nerve to outright ask them. Resignedly, Harry looked down at the floor as he crossed the common room, entered the dormitory and flopped onto his bed. He had pulled his hangings shut, but Draco was quick to open them again.

"Did you do that?" he asked.

"What do you mean? I was with you the whole time! So was Tom!"

"But you're _Parselmouths_ ," Draco intoned. "Parseltongue is the skill of Salazar Slytherin's _heirs_!"

Tom had walked over and was leaning on Harry's bedpost. "Yes, but anyone can take a legend like the Chamber of Secrets and write a message based on it. They don't have to be his actual heir."

"Mrs. Norris! Dumbledore said that only the darkest of magic could do that, so we just need to find out who's capable of such a thing." Draco was now pacing the floor, clearly deep in thought.

"You do that, Draco. But as for today, I'm going to bed." The events of the day had made Harry exhausted, so sleep came like a welcome release.


	21. The Duelling Club

The next day, they all sat in the Slytherin common room. Harry was trying to finish his History of Magic essay that he had procrastinated on, while Tom was reading (as always) and shooting him reprimanding looks. He'd finished his the day after it was assigned.

"Finally!" Harry said in exasperation, dotting the end of the last sentence in his essay. He slumped in the desk chair, looking around him. The atmosphere in Slytherin House hadn't been the same ever since Halloween. Snape was constantly surveying his students suspiciously, and the other professors did the same. Similarly, the students in Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff alike gave them wary glances.

"I've read _Hogwarts: A History_ numerous times, but it's so vague!" Tom said moodily, slamming his book shut. "Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?" he demanded, directing his question towards Draco.

Draco's gray eyes widened for a fraction of a second. He looked a bit excited. "I don't know much," he answered quickly, "but it's said that Salazar Slytherin built a chamber underneath the school that only his heirs could access." He paused, taking a deep breath. "In the Chamber of Secrets, if it exists, there's supposedly a monster lurking that's intended to purge the school of mud — erm, Muggleborns."

Harry chimed in. "What sort of monster?"

"I don't know," Draco said disappointedly, "but I'd wager it's something reptilian, given Slytherin's talent, and it'll be able to get rid of all the unworthy mu—" His voice cut off, sensing the glare Harry was sending his way.

The Chamber of Secrets was a mystery, and that was for sure. One that Harry was determined to figure out.

* * *

It was Saturday and the day of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match. Harry was looking forward to it. Halloween had increased the tension of virtually everyone in the school, and Harry found that flying was oftentimes a good way to relieve stress. He excitedly put on his uniform and grabbed his Nimbus 2000. He'd been the only person on the team to decline the Malfoys' offer of new brooms. His broom _had_ only been released last year, so Harry didn't see the point of a new one.

During breakfast, Draco was completely silent, and Tom just looked bored (as always). The only interruption came when a very small Gryffindor student came over to their table shakily. That definitely turned some heads in the Great Hall, seeing as no one really mingled during mealtimes, especially not Gryffindors and Slytherins.

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Harry Potter! My name is Colin Creevey, and I'm a first-year Gryffindor." The boy's voice was a bit shaky. By now, the attention of about half the Slytherin table was on them.

"Erm, hi, Colin," Harry said.

"Could I take a picture with you? My dad, well, he's a Muggle, and I want to show him how the pictures here move."

Some of the Slytherins were now laughing openly at Colin, who blushed a deep shade of red and almost dropped the camera he was holding. Pansy Parkinson simply sneered.

Harry honestly wasn't sure what to say. He really didn't want to take a picture with the boy, as he realized how conceited he would appear if he were to do so. However, he also didn't want to seem like another "nasty Slytherin." He swallowed a mouthful of eggs, before grimacing and saying "No, I don't mind. Go on ahead. Tom can take the picture."

Tom looked up from his meal and gave Harry a brief glare, though he grabbed the camera after seeing the pleading expression in Harry's eyes. "You owe me," was all he said, snapping the picture of a weakly smiling Harry and a broadly grinning Colin Creevey.

* * *

It was a gloomy and rainy day, and fog covered the ground thickly. Harry had the smart idea to cast the Impervious Charm on his glasses prior to heading down to the pitch. There, Draco was looking even paler than usual. He was gripping his broom tightly in nervousness, as it was his first Quidditch game in all of his time at Hogwarts. Marcus Flint silently scanned his team, his dark brown eyes sharply alert.

"Potter!" he shouted, causing Harry to jump a bit. "I'm expecting a quick catch today, and you'd better not disappoint." Harry nodded seriously.

"And Malfoy," Flint said, smirking and showing off the less-than-stellar state of his teeth. "despite your father's _generous_ donation, you still need to _win_. Don't forget what you learned during practice, or you'll regret it."

Draco gulped. "Yes, Captain Flint." His cheeks flushed, likely from a combination of excitement and apprehension.

Flint went on to lecture Pucey, Bole, and the other team members. Finally, it was time to head out to the pitch and begin the game.

It started out regularly enough. Gryffindor's Keeper and Captain, Oliver Wood, was a force to be reckoned with. It meant that catching the Snitch was of the ultimate importance, because scoring goals against Wood was difficult. Lee Jordan was commentating again, much to Harry's amusement.

"And Alicia Spinnet shoots the Quaffle towards the goal...making it IN! What an amazing throw from a beautiful Chaser." Harry could sense McGonagall's stern glare from across the pitch. "Gryffindor leads 20-0!" Jordan continued.

Just then, a Bludger, originating from Bole, neared Fred and George Weasley, who were incapacitated with the other Bludger. It very nearly missed them, causing Draco to taunt them.

"All right there, weasels?" he said arrogantly, an amused sneer on his face. The twins looked a bit insulted at first, but then gave Draco a pair of unnerving smiles.

Before any fights could break out, Flint stepped in. "Malfoy! Pay attention to the bloody game, you idiot!" he grumbled loudly. Draco eventually flew into one of the formations that they had practiced. He passed to Flint, who, after a bit of flying, passed the Quaffle back to Draco, who shot it into the hoop. Harry clapped, for it was Draco's first goal during his time at Hogwarts.

"Slytherin's new Chaser Malfoy scores...Gryffindor still leads 30-10! Maybe there was more to his arrival on the team than Gall—" The connection cut out, leading Harry to believe that McGonagall had intervened.

Harry blinked a bit. A camera, likely Colin Creevey's, had flashed right in his face. A quick look into the Gryffindor stands showed Colin bouncing excitedly as he snapped pictures and watched the game.

The Gryffindor Seeker, Cormac McLaggan, was nothing special. In fact, he had entirely the wrong build for a Seeker, with his muscular, bulky build. Thus, he wasn't nearly as fast as Harry, despite having a brand-new, just-released Cleansweep Eight. His arrogance didn't help much either. Harry knew him to be a bit of a bully, but it seemed that he was being more reserved, probably because he realized how out of place he was in the position of Seeker.

Harry dodged to the right in avoidance of a Bludger. It was the third time that game he'd had to do so, leading him to believe that the Gryffindor Beaters were targeting him.

Again, the Bludger was aimed for his head, and Harry had to completely turn over on his broom to avoid it. The crowd was now taking notice of Harry's struggles.

"Don't worry, Potter, I'll get it," said Peregrine Derrick, the other Slytherin Beater. He batted away the Bludger towards McLaggan. However, before it made it to its target, the Bludger completely changed direction and flew back towards the Slytherin team, this time it being Pucey who had to avoid it.

It managed to hit him, though, and he and his broom began to plummet towards the ground. Flint rapidly flew to help Pucey avoid a crash. Again, Harry saw the Bludger careening towards them, and tried to shout out a warning, but failed. Both of them, thankfully close to the ground this time, got hit, but they now looked to be unconscious. Madam Hooch landed her broom and rushed over to aid them.

"And a Bludger strikes two of Slytherin's three Chasers, Pucey and Flint. What will the Slytherin snakes do without a captain now?" Lee Jordan was saying excitedly.

Draco was so still on his broom that Harry almost thought he was Petrified. Derrick, the oldest member of the team still able to play, called for a time out.

"Harry, we really need you to catch the Snitch," Derrick said, pointing out the obvious. He wasn't quite as good of a captain as Flint. Nevertheless, Harry nodded, more determined to find it.

A blow of Madam Hooch's whistle began the game again. Harry rose into the air, his eyes refusing to focus on anything but finding the Snitch.

Slowly, the Slytherin Quidditch team was getting knocked out by Bludgers. Derrick and Bole, despite being Beaters, couldn't keep up with the Bludgers that were constantly swooping towards them, and only one blow to the side was enough to knock the Keeper out of commission. It was obvious that the Bludgers had been tampered with, but if they were to stop the game where it stood (Gryffindor leading 60-30), they would also lose the match.

It was utterly hopeless. Draco and Harry were the only Slytherin team members left. The lack of commentary from Lee Jordan showed that he and the rest of the students were confused as to what was happening. Gryffindor was scoring constantly on Slytherin.

"Harry," Draco said nervously, sidling up next to Harry and fruitlessly trying to play three positions at once, "what are we supposed to do? I can't keep Gryffindor from scoring."

Harry, though, had just spotted a glimmer of gold amidst the rain. Shooting out towards it like a rocket, he was too late to see the Bludger that Fred Weasley had just sent toward his right arm.

There was a brief moment of glee for Harry after he caught the Snitch, but it was short-lived, for Harry heard the Bludger hit his arm and break it. He gritted his teeth and groaned, seeing spots in his vision from the immense pain. He fell to the ground just before falling unconscious.

The last words Harry heard were: "Slytherin wins, 180-110."

* * *

Harry woke up in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was dashing about the Hospital Wing, tutting and shaking her head every so often.

"Quidditch! The sport of nightmares!" she exclaimed. Harry glanced to his left and right and was surprised to see that he was the only one still there, and that night had already fallen. Madam Pomfrey turned her attention onto him.

"Oh, there you are, Mr. Potter," she said, handing him a potion of some sort. "Here, drink this — and don't look so skeptical, it's a Strengthening Potion. You need it."

"What happened?" he asked, referring to his injuries.

"Nothing overly severe, though your arm was broken by that blasted Bludger. I fixed it up, but you were unconscious for considerably longer than expected."

Harry gulped down the thick and gritty potion, grimacing slightly. "Can I go back now?"

"Give it a minute, Mr. Potter. You may leave at midnight," she said, glancing at her silver wristwatch. "I'll give you a pass."

It was 11:30, so Harry only had to wait for a half hour before returning to the dormitory. He was still wearing his Quidditch uniform, which was made uncomfortable by the dampness the rain had caused. He leaned back in his hospital bed.

"Hello, Mr. Harry Potter!" an all-too-familiar voice chirped.

"Dobby?" Harry whispered in shock. "What are you doing here?"

"Dobby wanted to check on Harry after his Blud—"

"Your Bludger?! You knocked out practically the whole Slytherin Quidditch team!"

"Master Draco gave me orders not to bother you, so Dobby had to make you see how dangerous Hogwarts is! He could bother everyone but Harry Potter and Master Draco, so that he did! Dobby is very sorry for his actions. Harry Potter needs to be warned! The Chamber of Secrets is open once more and history is about to repeat itself."

"I swear, Dobby, one more time and I'll—"

"Eep!" Dobby shrieked, immediately vanishing with a snap of his fingers and a loud crack.

Harry sighed, leaning back in the cot again. Finally, the grandfather clock pushed against the wall chimed, signifying that it was midnight. He carefully pushed himself up, waiting for the wave of nausea and dizziness he felt to abide, and then began to head back to the dungeons.

Before he got there, though, he encountered something strange. Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were inspecting a figure solemnly. As Harry got closer, he could tell that it was a student. He warily inched closer, then turned down the stairs as McGonagall and Dumbledore began to turn their heads towards him. Getting caught at the scene of another Petrification would not be a good thing.

He was nearly at the entrance to the Slytherin common room when he noticed that Dumbledore had beaten him there. Around the corner, he heard the voice of Dumbledore and another person...Tom.

"Tom, you need to stop this," the headmaster said gravely. Harry could even picture the glassy, saddened look in the man's blue eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"Oh, I think you do. Remember that I know exactly where, and when, you came from. These events have happened in the past, and, although you managed to deceive the others, I knew who the real perpetrator was."

"I'm being completely honest, Professor Dumbledore," said Tom, a pleading edge to his voice. "We're not the same person...myself and _him_."

"A boy was Petrified tonight. This is not a mundane matter, Mr. Riddle. If these attacks continue, I will be forced to close the school." Dumbledore sighed. "My understanding is that you stay at an orphanage during the summer. You'd be forced to return."

"I don't know what I can do, sir!" Tom shouted, pacing the floor. "I'm not the one doing this, no matter what you may believe!"

"Tom…"

"Sorry for my outburst, professor, but I'm telling the truth. Goodnight." Harry heard Tom spin on his heels and mutter the password angrily to the entrance.

Composing himself and walking through the corridor, Harry merely inclined his head while passing the headmaster, who had worry etched across his face. In the common room, everyone cheered for him because he had won the Quidditch match, but he couldn't bring himself to feel happy about it. The Chamber of Secrets was turning out to be a bigger problem than Harry had anticipated.

* * *

The next morning, Draco and Theodore Nott, one of Harry's fellow Slytherins, were laughing about Percy Weasley finding his brother Ron in a girls' bathroom, of all things. News and gossip definitely traveled fast at Hogwarts.

Other than that, nothing extraordinary happened. Until Potions class, that was. They were brewing Swelling Solutions. Tom's, of course, was doing perfectly, whereas Harry was struggling to keep his from getting too runny.

Snape liked Tom, often awarding him points, but resented him at the same time for being friends with Harry. Draco was being immature and flicking his potions ingredients about, yet his cauldron still held a nearly-perfect Swelling Solution.

Harry's station was at the back of the Potions classroom. It gave him a good view of the entire classroom, and he managed to see Ron Weasley light something out of the corner of his eye. Ron lobbed it into the air, and Harry pushed Tom and Draco to the ground, as they were nearest. It was too late, though, and Harry felt the potion connect with his hand, swelling it to comical proportions.

Harry cursed his Gryffindor instincts, as Draco and Tom hadn't been effected at all, and now his hand was temporarily disfigured. The classroom erupted into chaos. Goyle got hit in the chest with the potion, resulting in some...interesting effects. Snape administered the antidote to everyone who'd been in contact with the exploded potion, his face revealing how completely angry he was.

"When I find out who did this, I will make sure to get them _expelled_ ," he said ominously. His dark eyes surveyed the students.

"It was—" Harry began, not the most fond of Ron Weasley at the moment.

"—Quiet, Potter," Snape interrupted. Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion as Weasley smiled impishly and Hermione sighed in relief, hastily stuffing something into her bag. Yes, he decided, they were definitely up to something.

* * *

A week later, the school was buzzing with the news of the new duelling club that was starting. Apparently, there hadn't been such a club at Hogwarts in over forty years. Though it was unclear who had started it, Draco had heard that Snape would be helping, and had deemed the club useful, dragging Harry and Tom along with him.

It was going to take place in the Great Hall. The large tables were gone, only to be replaced by a long duelling stage. Harry, Tom, and Draco were among the first students to arrive. Slowly, other students began to trickle in, and it appeared that the whole school was there. Lockhart was strutting back and forth on the stage, wearing an outfit of fancy and old-fashioned duelling robes.

"Now, I've started this little duelling club because the time will come when you need to protect yourselves from danger of the darkest nature," Lockhart said dramatically. "Defense class is grand, but it's not every day that you get to gain hands-on practice like this."

"I've asked your Professor Snape to aid me in this endeavor, though you mustn't be concerned with his fate. He'll be just as good of a Potions Master when I'm done with him!"

Snape's expression was rather sinister, in Harry's opinion. His upper lip was curled in distaste, and his wand was pointed directly at Lockhart. Harry laughed a bit as Lockhart was blasted off of his feet, his ridiculous hat knocked off of his head.

Then, the students were divided into pairs. Harry automatically stepped backwards towards Tom and Draco, hoping to be partnered with one of them. Thankfully, Lockhart partnered Harry with Draco and Tom with Theodore Nott, who was reasonably tolerable. At least, Harry had thought so, but the boy was apparently quite prejudiced against Muggleborns, as he was annoyed to be partnered with Tom.

After a bit of practice, Lockhart decided to call a partnership up to the stage. He searched the crowd, his gaze finally landing on Harry. However, Snape beat him to the punch.

"How about...Riddle and Weasley?" he suggested, teeth baring as he grinned. Snape probably knew how much Tom despised Weasley.

Weasley looked extremely angry as he stepped up to the stage. He got even more agitated as Lockhart was waving his wand around in incoherent motions, eventually dropping it. Snape was smirking, for Tom was among the best students in his year, if not the best. He quickly whispered something to Tom, who shrugged before nodding.

Tom met Ron Weasley in the center of the stage, and they jerkily bowed to each other. Harry had to wonder why the professors hadn't chosen a pair of older students to demonstrate.

"Three — two — one — go!" Lockhart shouted.

Immediately, Tom cast a spell Harry'd never heard of. " _Serpensortia_ ," he cast, the end of his wand shooting out a thick black rope — a snake, upon closer inspection. It hissed ominously, slithering about the stage.

Tom was nearby, so Harry tried to warn him not to expose their unique gift. He made a huge mistake, though, and looked at the snake as he tried to say " _Tom, don't talk to it!"_ The words came out in Parseltongue, and Tom, preoccupied, responded.

" _What? I'm busy_ — _"_ he hissed, immediately noticing his slip-up. The attention of the whole school was now on them.

Snape was in a stupor, but snapped out of it in time to vanish the serpent. The students watched the two of them, dumbfounded, save for Ron Weasley. In his blue eyes, Harry saw a flash of recognition. Now they were doomed — the whole school would think that he and Tom were the heirs of Slytherin.

The thoroughly-shocked students parted easily to let Harry and Tom pass through, with Draco trailing. Harry ran to the dormitory, ashamed for his stupidity. In the safety of the empty room, Harry slumped onto his green-and-silver decorated bed.

"How could you have been so stupid?!" Tom shouted, furious. Draco retreated to the common room, obviously not wanting to intrude on their imminent argument.

"I don't know...I meant to tell you not to talk to it, but I accidentally looked at the snake while talking, and…"

"Once," Tom began, "just once, couldn't you think about what you say before you do it?"

"Usually I do! It was a mistake, a big mistake—"

"That's an understatement! Dumbledore is already suspicious of me, and I'm willing to bet that the alternate Tom Riddle was the one who opened the chamber before. Now, the whole school's going to be suspicious too!"

"I'm sorry," Harry finally conceded, feeling a deep pang of regret in his chest.

"There's nothing we can do," Tom said sternly, sitting down on his bed. "I just hope I don't get put in Azkaban for this."

"They won't do that, Tom. There's Veritaserum and other things to check."

"That's not the point! You messed up, and now I have to pay for it." Tom stormed out of the dormitory and into the common room. Harry sat in silence for a few minutes, then reluctantly entered the common room.

After he and Tom's abilities were revealed, Harry expected to be faced with more suspicion in Slytherin. In contrast, it seemed that both of their reputations improved. Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson, who usually glared at Tom for being a so-called mudblood, were gazing at Tom with a newfound appreciation. It was rather sickening to Harry. Draco tried to come over and say that at least they didn't have to hide their talent any more, but Harry wasn't in the mood to chat. It felt strange to be at odds with Tom, and Harry just hoped that their argument would end soon.


	22. Two Tom Riddles

Hello again! I have just one word to explain my very late update: school. Sorry, and hopefully things will be better in the future. As always, feel free to read and review. Thanks.

* * *

Simply put, life felt weird for Harry when he and Tom weren't on good terms. In the hallways, between classes, Tom would walk so quickly that Harry couldn't keep up. He sat on the other side of the room in most classes, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. In Potions class, where they were forced to be partners (no one else wanted to switch, especially with Tom in the mood he was in), Harry would catch Tom openly glaring at him. It was painful, and as the school year went on, the tension in the air only rose.

On Thursday night, half an hour before curfew, Harry wandered the corridors alone, his feet automatically carrying him towards the library under the guise of the Invisibility Cloak. Draco was trying his best to be a good mediator, but Harry desperately needed a break from everything. In his mind, this was the best opportunity.

As Harry neared the library, he heard the sound of hushed voices engaged in an intense conversation. "—both Slytherins, but my money's on Potter."

"Why?" a feminine voice asked. "Riddle gives me a weird vibe, and he's a Parselmouth too." Harry stepped quietly around the corner. He recognized Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot, two Hufflepuffs in his year.

"Don't be silly, Hannah. Riddle's nice — or at least nicer than Potter — he gave me tips for Potions last month after mine exploded in class. And besides, he's a Muggleborn."

"But why Potter? He vanquished You-Know-Who…how could he be the one behind the attacks?"

"Because," Ernie began, his voice dropping. "Potter defeated the Dark Lord, right?" Hannah nodded. "Maybe he could do that because _he_ was a powerful Dark wizard himself. That could've been why You-Know-Who targeted him in the first place — to eliminate the competition."

"Still, poor Justin! I would feel horrible knowing that I was the Heir's next victim," Hannah replied, closing her book and packing up her bag. "You saw what happened in the Duelling Club."

Harry took a step backwards, knowing that they would probably have to pass through the passage he was standing in. A lone piece of parchment rustled under his foot, and he cursed internally. Both Ernie and Hannah were peering curiously at him, even though he was technically invisible. He took another step and turned around, running out of the library and hoping that they wouldn't find him.

After pausing to find out where he was, Harry continued to walk to the Slytherin common room, his mind buzzing with thoughts. Before overhearing the Hufflepuffs' conversation, he would have thought that Tom would be the one to blame, but maybe he had overestimated his reputation. Tom always made sure to maintain a perfect reputation, so no one really got to see him in the same way that Harry did.

Suddenly, a shadow entered Harry's path. He abruptly stopped walking, only to find an incredibly strange sight in front of him. The resident ghost of Gryffindor, Sir Nicholas (mostly known as Nearly-Headless-Nick) was not the pearly white color he usually was. Instead, he was a dark and obscure mass, unable to move and staring straight ahead.

Taking in the full scene in front of him, Harry noticed that someone had been Petrified, and that someone was none other than Justin Finch-Fletchley.

This is bad, Harry thought over and over, frozen and trying to think of what to do next. He turned to leave, only to encounter Peeves the Poltergeist. Harry nearly tripped over a line of spiders making for the window in his last attempt to flee, which was a strange sight in itself, yet not one that Harry could presently focus on.

Meanwhile, Peeves had spotted the Petrified ghost and student. Usually, he left most Slytherins alone out of fear for their ghost, the Bloody Baron. However, his fear didn't defer him from shouting, "POTTER'S THE HEIR! ANOTHER ATTACK! ATTACK! WHETHER SPIRIT OR STUDENT, NO ONE IS SAFE!"

That attracted the attention of the teachers, and like the first time, the school. Nearby students, mostly those returning to their common rooms, gathered around, all shouting and chattering to the extent that McGonagall had to use a spell to quiet them. Harry hadn't had enough time to put on his Invisibility Cloak, and mentally chided himself for not thinking faster.

Peeves had broken out of his shocked state and was now singing,

" _Now that Potter's the definite heir,_

 _students, teachers, and ghosts beware!_

 _He's Petrifying them all; it's really not fair,_

 _Oh Potter, the—_ "

"Quiet, Peeves," McGonagall snapped from where she was checking Justin. The other teachers joined her, their faces contorted in concentration.

McGonagall stood up quickly. "Follow me, Potter," she said, mirroring the time Mrs. Norris had been found as stiff as a board. Harry was frozen in place. Snape put his hand on Harry's shoulder, angrily pushing him forward.

"Please, professors, I know what it looks like, but I really didn't do—" Harry tried to plead.

"Potter, I don't care what you've done or not done. It's up to the Headmaster to decide these things."

"But sir, I actually—"

"Don't say anything, Potter — you'll just dig yourself into a deeper hole than you already have."

They made it to the entrance to Dumbledore's office. The stone gargoyle looked as ominous as ever, and Harry found himself completely dreading the visit.

"Lemon drop," McGonagall intoned, and a stone stairway emerged. They trudged up the stairs until an oak door appeared, and McGonagall knocked briskly twice.

"Return to the common room when you are done here," Snape told him. He and McGonagall left the room, leaving Harry by himself with the headmaster.

Dumbledore, despite wearing a full set of pajamas and a nightcap, looked anything but ready to go to sleep. His blue eyes shone with alertness. Harry took a seat across from the headmaster, readying himself for the conversation ahead.

"I didn't do it, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said lightly, his gaze intense. "I'm not the one behind the attacks." He knew that his eyes probably held a crazed expression, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I believe you," Dumbledore said after a moment of hesitation.

"And I'm not related to Slytherin, am I, sir?"

"No, and no Potter ever has been, from what I can tell. Your friend, though—"

"Tom's not behind the attacks either," Harry interrupted, his tone stern. "He was with us the whole time on Halloween."

"That does not excuse him from suspicion, Harry."

"But I know th—"

"Hush, Mr. Potter. Let me tell you a story — one that happened fifty years ago." Dumbledore paused, clearing his throat, his expression solemn.

"You mean in the '40s, sir? That would mean…oh."

"Yes, Harry. The Chamber of Secrets was first opened in the 1940s. During that time, there were two people attending Hogwarts whom you may know. Care to guess?"

"Voldemort, and…" The first one was easy. Tom had been sent from the 1930s, meaning that his alternate self was one of the students. The other was more difficult. Professor Snape was much too young, as were the professors Sprout and Flitwick. McGonagall and Hagrid had both identified Tom. "Hagrid," Harry said, "or maybe Professor McGonagall?"

Dumbledore nodded. "The former. Professor McGonagall was a student here after Voldemort graduated."

"So you're saying, sir, that Hagrid had something to do with the Chamber?"

"Rubeus Hagrid has a reputation for collecting creatures on the more dangerous end of the spectrum, as I'm sure you know." Harry nodded vigorously to this, remembering a rumor he'd heard about Hagrid buying a dragon egg and the arrival of one of Ron Weasley's brothers, though Harry wasn't quite sure of the connection between the two.

"In the year 1943," Dumbledore continued, "the Chamber of Secrets was opened in the exact same fashion it was here in 1992. The Petrifications continued, to the extent that a girl was killed by the monster—"

"—so the monster can kill, then, Professor?"

"Yes, and in all likelihood, Hogwarts would have closed had the attacks persisted."

"But something stopped that from happening," Harry concluded. "What?"

"As you very well know, Voldemort grew up in an orphanage. Though the majority of the London Blitz was over, World War II was still alive, and that, paired with Tom Riddle's inability to do magic over the summer, created a strong reluctance to return to the Muggle world."

Dumbledore poured himself a cup of tea and swirled it slowly. "When he heard that the school was going to close, Tom Riddle became desperate for a solution. He found out—"

"—that Hagrid was keeping a dangerous pet of some sort and placed the blame on him," Harry finished. The headmaster gave him an appraising look. "I figured it out while you were talking," Harry explained. "Sorry."

"Never be sorry for quick wit, Harry, although it would be good for you to learn to restrain your speech whenever appropriate."

"Oh, believe me, sir, I've heard that before," said Harry, Tom's harsh words still in his mind. They still hadn't spoken.

"Dear me," Dumbledore said in alarm, looking down at a celestial-patterned and constantly whirring watch. "I believe it's well past time for you to return to your dormitory."

"Bye, Professor," Harry said awkwardly.

"Farewell, Mr. Potter. Do mention my name if any prefects or wandering teachers give you trouble."

"I will, sir."

Harry slowly walked back to the dungeons, deep in thought. If the last person to open the Chamber of Secrets had been Voldemort, a.k.a. Tom Riddle, who was it this time? It really didn't bode well for Tom — his other self's actions would be substantial evidence to expel him in some people's eyes.

Harry solemnly muttered the password ("fraxinus") and entered the common room. As was typical nowadays, all eyes fell on him. His Slytherin housemates had been carefully watching Tom and him, trying to figure out if one or both of them were the heirs. Harry obviously knew that he wasn't the heir, and he was about 99% sure it wasn't Tom, but…

"Did you do it?" Pansy Parkinson had the nerve to ask, something akin to admiration glowing in her eyes. Her attitude had changed now that she thought Harry could be one of the heirs.

"No," Harry muttered grumpily, turning his back on the rest of the students and retreating to the dormitory.

* * *

The next day, on Saturday, Draco was excited because he had gotten permission to stay over the Christmas holiday. He sat between Harry and Tom at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.

"Why are you so happy?" Harry asked. "Don't you want to see your parents?"

"Well, of course, but I have plenty of chances to see them. I'll be able to explore, and I'll be the Christmas feast is great, and the school will be empty, and—"

"Be quiet," Tom piped in from across the table. "I'm trying to finish my essay."

Draco's face flushed and he quieted down quickly after that.

"Are they staying too?" Harry asked in an attempt to make conversation. He subtly gestured to Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom were seeing how many Chocolate Frogs they could fit in their mouths.

"No, and thank goodness for that!" Draco's voice dropped down to a whisper. "I mean, they're great bodyguards and all, but they're just so…so…dim."

"I, erm, know what you mean."

Tom, flustered and visibly annoyed, scrambled to grab his things. Apparently Harry and Draco were being too loud for his liking.

"Tom, please don't go!" Draco pleaded, to no avail.

"Don't bother. He's just trying to keep his grudge alive for as long as possible — you know how he is."

"I suppose so. Listen, have you heard about the Quidditch World Cup this year? It's going to be…"

While Draco was talking endlessly about the Quidditch World Cup, Harry's attention was on the Gryffindor table. Something was suspicious there, and he figured out what: Hermione was talking animatedly with Ron and Neville, looking quite upset. She stormed out of the Great Hall, and Harry was glad to have brought his Invisibility Cloak with him.

"Sorry, Draco, but I have to go somewhere. See you later," Harry said, his gaze following Hermione. As soon as he was out of sight of the other students and one speechless Draco Malfoy, he pulled his cloak over his shoulders.

Hermione followed a strange path. A couple times, she turned around to make sure that no one was following her, and her pace was brisk. This only served to peak Harry's interest further. Eventually, Hermione came to a door clearly marked "Girls' Lavatory," causing Harry to sigh. Had he really followed her all this way so she could go to the bathroom?

A closer look, though, showed that there was something special about the bathroom. Potion fumes clouded the room, wafting out from where Hermione had opened the door, and the entire lavatory was flooded. Water flowed freely from the toilets, and although Harry's imagination was quite vivid, he knew he couldn't have imagined the wailing noise originating from one of the stalls.

As the wooden door creaked slowly shut, Harry just barely managed to slip through the doorway and into the bathroom. However, the presence of water in the room posed a serious threat to his secrecy. His steps would be clearly visible, even with the use of a silencing spell, so he would have to move when Hermione's back was turned.

While Harry was walking over to inspect the potion and the large book Hermione had carried in with her, he noticed something peculiar. On the ground, just below one of the toilets, there sat an unassuming black diary, and on its back cover was "T.M. Riddle."

Pausing briefly to wonder what Tom's diary was doing in the middle of a girls' lavatory, Harry swiftly picked it up, all thoughts of the mysterious potion brewing gone from his mind.

After twenty minutes of searching, Harry found Tom in a back corner of the library, reading with a moody expression on his face.

The words "I have your diary" were on the tip of Harry's tongue when he noticed that Tom's diary was nestled snugly in Tom's bag, his name just peeking out.

Tom looked up, dark eyes angry. "What?" he snapped.

Harry began to stammer, making up something that ended up being undeniably true. "Oh, er, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry, again, and that I'd like to end our argument, because—"

"—I'll consider it," Tom replied coldly, returning his attention to the book. "Is that all?"

"Yes. Bye now."

Harry gave a halfhearted wave and scurried out of the library, eager to figure out what Tom Riddle was really up to.

* * *

Back in the safety of the dormitory, Harry sat behind the privacy of his bed curtains. Lighting his wand tip with the spell _lumos_ , he pulled out his quill and ink. The diary looked just like Tom's, but somehow, it felt _different_ to Harry — almost as if it had its own magic.

 _Hello, Tom,_ Harry wrote as a test. _My name is Harry Potter._

A few seconds passed, and Harry turned away, not expecting anything. In spite of that, when he focused on the journal again, there was a line of neat handwriting — Tom's handwriting.

 _Hello, Harry Potter._

 _Are you really Tom?_

 _If you mean Tom Riddle, then yes_ , came the reply.

 _Do you always tell the truth?_ Harry asked.

Again, black ink sprawled across the previously blank page of the diary. _Does anyone?_

No was the answer, then. Harry continued writing. _What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?_

 _I can't tell you that,_ replied the diary.

 _But you know something._

There was no reply, so Harry just wrote:

 _If you're really Tom, then where did we visit this past summer?_

Again, no writing bloomed across the page, so Harry sighed and closed the black diary, tucking it under his pillow and letting sleep take over his thoughts.

* * *

The next morning, Harry sat at the Great Hall, trying to finish his homework. Nearby was Tom, reading the same book from yesterday. It looked uninteresting, especially when considering its title: A Study of the Long-Lasting Effects of Multi-Elemental Transfigurations. How Tom could read things like that without immediately falling asleep would forever remain a mystery to Harry.

Once Harry saw Tom pull out his personal diary. Harry discreetly pulled out the other, choosing to write:

 _Hello, Tom._

Tom didn't seem to be affected at all, and merely continued to write away, momentarily pausing to dip his quill in his inkwell.

Harry wrote the same thing over again, watching the ink disappear into the white pages. Just the same as last time, Tom didn't seem to be aware of anything.

"Why are you staring at me?" Tom asked, glaring at Harry.

"Huh?" Harry replied dumbly.

"I'm anything but stupid. I can tell when someone is staring at me."

It was at that inopportune moment that the diary decided to respond. Harry desperately tried to cover up the spidery writing _(Hello, Harry)_ with his hands, but it was too late. Tom had noticed the diary.

"What is that?" he questioned, snatching up the black book from its place on the table. "Where did you get this?"

"I found it in the lavatory — someone had thrown it away. I thought you'd lost it, but seeing as your diary's right there…obviously you haven't."

"So why does it have my name on it, Harry?" Tom's tone was annoyed and edging on anger.

"I don't know. That's what I was trying to figure out. It replies whenever I write something in it, and it claims to be Tom Riddle."

Understanding dawned on Tom's face, and he rushed out of the Great Hall, Harry just behind. Panting, Harry finally reached the dungeons, where Tom was intensely scrutinizing the black journal. He held it up to the light, thumbed through its blank pages, traced his fingers over the gold lettering on the back, and even tried a revealing spell.

"It's Voldemort's," Tom said after pacing in thought. "I hid my first diary at the orphanage, but I had another one when I was sent to the future, which means that this was the other Tom Riddle's. He did something to it."

"Yeah, that makes sense and everything, but what is it doing here?"

"That's what I have to figure out." Tom turned to examine Harry, suddenly seeming to realize who he was talking to. "I'm going now," he said, briskly walking off through the corridor without another glance.

* * *

Harry was, quite frankly, annoyed that Tom had just taken the diary from him. He had been the one to find the journal, and even though it held Tom's initials and surname, Harry felt that the other boy should have at least offered to figure out the mystery together. That was why Harry felt a sickening sense of satisfaction when Tom reluctantly told him that he'd left the diary in a classroom, and it'd been stolen. Tom, on the other hand, was more furious than ever.


	23. Valentine's Day

Christmas had been uneventful. Harry was glad to have received gifts from Draco and Hermione, and he had purchased a wand care kit for Tom, even though he knew that the gesture wouldn't be reciprocated. It was nearing the New Year, and again Harry and Tom had received invitations to the Malfoys' New Year's Eve party, but had declined them. Harry found it too tiring, and he had a feeling that Tom wasn't willing to go to the party alone, especially because of his grudge with Harry.

This, of course, was much to Draco's annoyance. He had begged them to go, but Harry had found the entire ordeal tiring the past year, so he opted out. To add to that, Tom had withdrawn into an obsessive state. Although the tension between he and Harry had lowered a bit, the only time Tom spoke to Harry was to ask if he had seen the diary recently.

Hermione had also been acting a bit strange. Given that Harry was in Slytherin and Hermione was in Gryffindor, aside from classes and mealtimes, he didn't get the chance to see her often. When he did, though, she looked anxious, periodically scurrying off, likely to that same lavatory she'd been brewing the potion in. Harry brushed off her strange behavior, having more pressing matters to deal with at the moment. After all, Transfiguration class was getting more difficult, and Harry wanted to get at least an E in the class.

That evening, after listening to Draco talk about the Department of Mysteries and what could possibly be hidden there, Harry retreated to the common room, trying unsuccessfully to focus on his homework.

Harry looked up just in time to see Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson walk stiffly into the room and seat themselves on the sofa opposite the chair Harry was on. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Tom's eyes scanning the situation, before he surprisingly came over to sit on one of the armchairs.

"Hello, Harry," Pansy said, her voice strangely calm compared to her regular high-pitched squeal.

"Erm, hello," Harry replied, looking at her questioningly. "What is it?"

At that moment, Crabbe decided to butt in: "That whole Chamber of Secrets thing sure is crazy, huh?"

This was even stranger than Pansy's apparent voice change. Crabbe never spoke...this Harry knew. He'd heard enough complaining from Draco about how dumb the other boy was.

Tom obviously sensed this too. "I suppose it is rather odd. I just wish I knew who the Heir was."

"You don't know?!" Goyle exclaimed, springing up before he was promptly shoved down by Pansy. Had the two even talked with each other before? Harry didn't think so. So why were they suddenly so comfortable with each other?

A period of silence followed. "No, neither of us know. If we did, we'd have done something about it by now," answered Harry.

"Hey Malfoy-er, Draco," Goyle said again. "Do you know anything about the Chamber?"

Draco had previously trying to seem like he wasn't listening attentively, even though he was. Now, sensing his chance, he walked over, puffing out his chest haughtily. "Well, I only know what my Father has told me, but apparently, it was opened in the past by another student."

"That's it?" Crabbe said, but he was quickly pulled away from the sofa by Pansy, who pulled Goyle along with her.

In an instant, they were out of the common room, not even bothering to listen to Draco's insistent "But it's past curfew."

Quickly, Harry dragged Tom to the common room, ignoring the glare he received. Draco, sensing the mood, curiously watched them, but thankfully decided to stay behind.

"What was that? Why were they acting like that?" Harry asked.

"That was not Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy. I'm not sure who they were yet, but based on their mannerisms and behavior, they were not who they appeared to be." Tom sat on his bed, running his hand through his hair.

Harry sat silently, trying to connect this new development to what he'd seen before. Suddenly, it dawned on him. He'd seen Hermione in the bathroom, brewing a potion that Harry had never seen before. Somehow, he knew that this was linked. What potion can change people's identities?

"What potion?" Harry thought aloud. "...changes people's identities...takes a while to brew…"

Tom stood up. "Polyjuice," he said firmly. "Polyjuice Potion."

"I saw Hermione in the bathroom a while ago...the same one I found the diary in. She was brewing something there, and I could tell that she wanted to keep it a secret."

Tom considered the new information Harry had presented him. "That settles it. Hermione was impersonating Parkinson, and I'm willing to bet Weasley was either Crabbe or Goyle. But who would be the third?"

"Obviously a Gryffindor boy in our year," Harry provided. "Longbottom? I don't think he has the guts. Maybe Finnegan? Or Dean Thomas?"

"At any rate, that's not what's important right now. They were trying to get evidence that one of us is the Heir. I need to prove that it's Voldemort doing this, not me."

"Do you have any idea what Slytherin's monster is?"

"It can both Petrify and kill people, and given Slytherin's talent of Parseltongue, I'd say it's something snakeline, or at the very least reptilian," Tom said. "I'm going to check out a book about magical creatures from the library tomorrow. Not exactly my area of interest, but it should prove to be useful."

"That sounds good. The sooner we can end this, the better." Harry was glad that Tom was finally working with him again. Even if the other had never truly apologized, which Harry doubted he would ever do, something told Harry that Tom had gotten over his grudge.

* * *

Nevertheless, Tom, finally seeming to come to his senses and take in his surroundings, immediately went to bed once he realized that he had cooperated with Harry in the first time in over a month.

Harry decided that Valentine's Day was the worst holiday ever created. February 14 was turning out to be absolutely horrible, mainly because of Lockhart and his atrocious pink decorations and outfit. The only person who seemed to be more peterved than Harry was Tom, whose deep scowl kept everyone from trying to approach him.

Lockhart had even arranged for small dwarves dressed as cupids to deliver valentines to students. So far, both Harry and Tom had been saved from the embarrassment of receiving one. Currently, Harry was leaning against the wall outside the Charms classroom, Tom and Draco nearby.

Harry's stomach dropped when he saw a dwarf approaching them, envelopes in its hand. "I've got a valentine for 'Arry Potter and a musical message for one Tom Riddle," it declared.

Tom's face went ashen, even more pale than it usually was. Just as his cheeks were beginning to get rosy (Harry's were already tomato red), he turned on his heel and dashed away, mumbling some excuse about forgetting his Charms notebook.

He was almost out of the corridor when someone's foot jutted out, causing Tom to trip. Harry saw the passing fourth year who did it chuckle a bit, but the smile was wiped off his face when Tom stared at him coldly and began to say "I will murder y-" before the dwarf cupid caught up to him.

Meanwhile, Harry stood in shock while all of these events were playing out, the envelope he had been delivered crumpling in his hand. Draco looked caught between laughing now (later receiving Tom's wrath) and keeping silent.

The dwarf had begun singing.

" _With the deepest of eyes and the darkest of hair,  
_ _The highest of smarts and good looks to spare,  
_ _A personality of silver and charm of gold,  
_ _He's a mystery, an enigma, and a Riddle untold."_

At this point, Tom was practically seething with a mixture of embarrassment and fury. He liked to be in control, and Harry could tell that this situation bothered him like no other. As soon as the door to the classroom opened, Tom rushed in, slamming his books on an empty desk. No one, except for Harry, had the courage to sit next to him.

"C'mon, Tom, it was just a silly valentine. By tomorrow morning, everyone will have forgotten about it."

"I'm sure," Tom said dryly, angrily flipping through his textbook. "What did yours say?"

"My what?" Harry blurted.

"Your valentine, idiot. The one that's currently crumpled into a ball in your left hand."

"Oh, erm, let me see." Harry attempted to flatten it out on his desk before tearing the pink envelope open. Inside was a handwritten note.

"Just another poem," Harry said. It read:

 _His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,  
_ _His hair is as black as a blackboard,  
_ _I wish he was mine, he's really divine,  
_ _The hero who conquered the Dark Lord._

Tom silently read the note. "We need to identify this handwriting. It's the same person." He carefully took the note and folded it, then placed it in his pocket.

Harry didn't have a chance to reply before Flitwick began "teaching" the class.

* * *

On Saturday, Harry sat watching Tom as he snuck around the dormitory, comparing the note to everyone's handwriting. Luckily, the common room and dormitories were empty because everyone was at the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch game. Harry had told him not to bother with the boys, especially because he felt that the handwriting somehow looked like a girl's, but Tom was so paranoid that he checked the penmanship of everyone in Slytherin. An exasperated huff let him know that Tom hadn't made any significant developments.

"They could have changed their handwriting for the note," Harry pointed out to an annoyed Tom. "If I were the one writing it, I wouldn't want the person I gave it to to recognize me."

"That's another possibility, yes, but I need to keep going until I've seen the handwriting of everyone in this school."

"Well, have fun with that—" Harry tried to say, but he was cut off.

"—You're going to help me. We need to get into Gryffindor next. Now, all I need is the password. They should be at the game for another hour."

"Don't be so sure about that. There's no set time for Quidditch, remember?" Harry added helpfully.

"Yes, well, it's raining, so it'll be harder for them to play, they're both well-matched teams, and we're going to have the Invisibility Cloak. I'm not stupid," Tom muttered.

"You always say that last bit — you sure you're not stupid? I mean, you have to tell me, and I know you best, so—" Tom interrupted Harry's sarcasm with a slight whack to the head with the folded poem.

"Come on, Harry," he said, sighing.

* * *

They'd been waiting for fifteen minutes outside the Gryffindor common room, unable to figure out a way to get inside. Harry was growing antsy, tired of waiting for nothing.

"I'm going to the toilet," he declared, stepping out from under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Seriously?" he heard Tom say. "Just be fast."

Because there was practically no one around in the school, Harry was able to run on his way to the lavatory. On the way out, though, he noticed something strange. Bending down, he saw and picked up a piece of paper labelled with some dates and strange words.

Trying to figure out what it was, he quickly walked back to where he knew Tom was. "Hooked nose? What?" he read aloud in confusion.

To his shock, the common room door swung right open, the painting of the Fat Lady glaring a bit at him in distaste. Quickly, he scurried under the protection of the Invisibility Cloak.

"How did you do that?" Tom questioned in shock. Noticing the paper in Harry's hand, he asked, "What is that?"

"I don't really know," Harry replied. "I just found it on the floor of the lavatory. I guess it was a list of passwords."

Tom grabbed the sheet to look at it carefully. "Neville Longbottom. I had to sit next to him once in Charms class. It's definitely his handwriting — figures that he'd be the one to have to write down the passwords to remember them."

Harry, whose mind didn't work exactly like Tom's, was a bit bored from listening to his reasoning. "Can we just go inside now?"

Finally, Tom nodded and they stepped into the common room; the door swung shut behind them.

"We'll start with the girls' things. Find as many different notebooks as you can," Tom instructed Harry. "If you hear the door open, quickly hide under the cloak again."

Harry nodded and began searching. After a while, they had accumulated a large pile of notebooks to check. Thankfully, most of the girls had left at least one notebook or piece of homework around the common room, because Harry didn't think they would be able to make it into the girls' actual dormitories.

Tom was making his way through the pile of handwriting samples in good time. There was only one poem to look off of, not to mention the fact that Tom liked to be in control, so Harry simply sat there watching the process.

Finally, it seemed that Tom had successfully matched the writing. "I should have known," he grumbled.

"Well, whose is it?!" Harry asked, excited that they had finally figured it out.

"Ginny Weasley. Either she's too stupid to realize that she should change her handwriting for something like this or she wanted us to figure out it was her. I'm leaning towards the former option. She's a Weasley, after all."

"Hey, don't be like that, Tom," Harry lightly scolded. "We've figured it out, which is good. Also, how can you be sure that the poems were written by the same person. After all, yours was a singing one and mine was written."

Tom scowled. "They're essentially the same format, first of all. I highly doubt that two students could coincidentally create two poems. Second of all," Tom had a smug grin on his face, "I saw the handwriting of the poem that 'cupid' was reading off of. Same handwriting."

"Fine," Harry conceded. They carefully put each and every notebook and paper back where they had found them. It was a bit difficult for Harry because he hadn't focused on remembering their former locations. Eventually, though, they finished and were able to return to the Slytherin common room. Harry took the list of passwords with him.


End file.
